


It Resembles Chronic Nightmares

by edy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Castration, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Masks, Multi, Nightmares, Obsession, Penectomy, Polygamy, Sadomasochism, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard Way wakes up to find he has been kidnapped by a group of men in bunny masks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Their Hands—So Cold

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration: "knife blood nightmare" by aiden and the leATHERMØUTH aesthetic
> 
> -
> 
> i'll update when i'm able. please be patient.

Whenever I wake up naked on a surface I'm unfamiliar with, I get worried.

This is no exception.

The surface I'm on is cold, and it resembles a table, but tables don't have metal railing along the sides nor around it. My toes curl around the rail by my feet. My fingers go up to touch the rail to my right.

Where am I?

"Where am I?" I murmur to myself, but it comes out like a grumble, something that sounds like "wweerrregami".

I'm being watched now. I can feel a pair of eyes burning into me, and I suddenly grow insecure of my body. I try to move my legs to my chest, trying to cover up my groin, but hands grab onto my ankles, yanking. My knees pop, and I groan, trying once again to move around on the table. My arms raise, and I try to grab onto something, but two more hands latch themselves to my wrists, and they go to the top of my head, causing my shoulders and back to pop.

Fuck, that felt good.

"Fuck, that felt good." My lips barely move.

The feeling of being watched is still lingering nearby. I try once more to move, but the hands on my ankles and wrists are strong, and they're doing a good job at pinning me down. It's starting to hurt, and I buck, my back and hips lifting off the table. "Lemme go."

I hear a laugh—it's high, feminine.

"You have a pretty body."

More hands go to my chest, pushing me down as a bandanna drapes across my eyes, acting as a blindfold. I didn't even have the urge to open my eyes, but now, with something causing me not to, I want to—really bad.

I twist and turn on the table.

Another laugh—the same one as before.

The hands are gone on my chest, and liquid drips onto it. I wince. It's cold, and it burns.

The hands around my wrists and ankles slip away, and I take my chance to get up. I'm unsuccessful. I groan. It's so cold. I start to think wet ice cubes are dripping above me, and I begin to grow wary at what's going to happen.

I'm blindfolded, and ice is dripping on my chest.

Huh, sounds like something sexy. Maybe not in this situation.

A weight's pressed onto my hips, and I groan again. I try to decode what's on my lap. It feels like a person because I can feel the material of jeans rubbing against my groin.

"Lemme go," I say, and my voice makes it come out all tired, weak—almost like I'm begging for something. I mentally kick myself.

The person's hands go on my chest, and they slide up and down, almost like a massage, but I know it's not. It's going to get worse, and it does.

A warm liquid falls on my chest, then, replacing what I thought to be melted ice. I shiver at the sudden temperature change, and this causes whoever's on top of me to tremble as well. I hear them moan, and a certain body part of theirs hardens and presses against my stomach.

Okay, okay, this is probably a dude.

I feel their chest press against my abdomen. I hear the sound of plastic sliding before a mouth comes in contact with one of my nipples. I yelp, twisting around on the table.

I don't want this. Get off me.

"Eh, yes, more."

Their mouth moves around my chest, licking up the substance that's on it. I smell something.

Oh, shit, this is blood on my chest.

Get off me, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"More," my vocal cords say, betraying me. I'm gross.

The recently discovered man above me laughs darkly, and his hands go on my sides. "Let him go." The hands on my wrists and ankles disappear, and the person above me lifts me for a split second before smashing me down on the table.

If I had been able to see, it would be gone by now.

The back of my head throbs painfully, and as an instant reaction, my hand goes to touch it, but the man grabs my elbow and harshly bangs it against the table's surface. I recognize it as metal.

I try not to move.

He jumps off my chest, and the bandanna is pulled off my face.

I lazily open my eyes.

I'm surrounded by a group of men in white rabbit masks.

I can't help it.

I laugh.

"You gotta be kidding me. At first, I thought this was, like, something out of a horror movie, but seriously? Fucking _bunnies_."

I continue to laugh, and my face even starts to hurt.

I think the men behind the masks will rip them off and laugh with me, and then I'll wake up from this weird-as-fuck dream, but they don't. They stare at me with narrowed eyes behind their masks of plastic.

I swallow.

"This is a trick, right? I'm gonna wake up any minute, right? Or is this for something, like my birthday?" I pause. "It's April, isn't it?"

One of the taller men slaps me across the face. My head turns to the side, and I press my cheek against the table top. I briefly shut my eyes before looking ahead. Where am I, where am I?

My brow furrows.

I'm in a dark room. I'm in the middle of it, on the table, and the bunnies are above me. I turn my head, looking at the ceiling. A single light bulb's hanging from a wooden beam above me. I don't see any sign of where the ice or blood would have came from.

I bite my lip.

"Can I go home?"

A hand shot out from the man standing beside me covers my mouth. "No," he growls. The voice is deep, and it totally doesn't fit with the mask. I begin to chuckle, and this makes the person at the very end of the table jump on it, land on the railing, making the table flip and land somewhere off to the side. I end up against the wall, and I slowly curl into a ball, tears stabbing at the corners of my eyes.

I groan. Again.

I hear one of the men smack another one's stomach.

"Bryar, grab him and put him in one of the rooms in the back."

The footsteps coming close to me make me shiver and press myself closer to the cold wall. Go away, go away, _go away_.

Arms wrap around my body, picking me off the ground. I'm pressed against the guy's chest, and his hands are warm against my back. "Do you want him dressed, Iero?" His voice is the one I heard before—right before he covered my mouth. Iero or whatever his fucking name is, must be the leader of this group of rabbits. I want to laugh, but I don't want to at the same time. My ribs are sore, and I don't want to get hurt even more.

The one called Iero steps toward Bryar, or whoever is holding me. He touches my shoulder, and I slowly lift my head, peeking out the corner of my hazel eye. All I see is a face of cheap, white plastic and small eye holes traced with red. I look at the mask, wondering if I'm going to have nightmares about it, and I whine. I don't need anymore nightmares.

This makes Iero laugh, and I can see a hint of hazel eyes behind the mask, as well, before he turns his head, looking off to the side. I see a head of short black hair when he turns.

"Yeah, get him dressed. There should be gowns back there." He looks back at me, and he steps in close, putting a hand on my cheek. I can vaguely smell blood and a touch of cologne on him. "You better cooperate with us, boy, or else this is going to be even more painful than it ought to be." He tilts his head to the side, and the hazel eyes widen. "Got it?"

I nod, whine.

He giggles. It's the same high, feminine one from before. My back arches, and Bryar's hand goes to touch my spine, to run his fingers along the bones. "If you continue to whine like that," Iero says, "I'm just going to have to deal with you myself." He lightly slaps my shoulder before walking off, and Bryar holds me close, going out of the small room, leading me into a small, low-ceiling hallway. I duck my head into the spot under his collarbone. He smells like cologne and blood, too. I whimper, and I feel his chest rise and fall in laughter.

"You're so pathetic, it's cute. We're going to have fun with you."

A hand goes to cup my ass, and when I tighten up from the unfamiliar contact, he laughs even more.

"Yeah, we're going to have _a lot_ of fun with you."


	2. The Things He Checks

The room Bryar takes me to is dark, extremely cold, and reeks of blood. My hand goes to my nose, and this only causes Bryar to laugh. "You'll get used to the smell."

I start to doubt it as he dumps me on a mattress, in the middle of the room. My back hits it, and my once thought that all mattresses are soft is gone. This piece of furniture should be banned for ever being on a bed, or even called a bed, ever again. It's rough, there're holes in it, and blood stains are littered everywhere. There's even one by the top of it, where the head's supposed to lay.

Bryar notices my grimace, and he touches my shoulder when I raise up. "You got one of the nicer beds. Be thankful about that."

"There are no sheets on it—no blankets, pillows."

"Hey—you can't have everything." He starts out of the room, probably going to find the gown that Iero mentioned earlier.

I look around the room, the grimace on my face growing bigger. This place is filthy, but I think the smell's making it blow out of proportion.

The room is small, and I think it's filled with trash—pop cans, beer cans, cigarette butts, and various food items that rotted. The walls are also stained with either alcohol or blood or the paint's just chipping off, but I find that very unlikely.

I'm about to go up and sniff it whenever Bryar comes back, holding a big white gown in his hands. "I asked Iero if he wanted you to wear pants, since most of the gowns we have are too short, but he said he wanted you bottomless when he gives you a full exam later on tonight." He runs a thumb along the gown, and I frown.

"Then, what was that in there?" I exclaim, waving my arms around. "You guys dripped blood on me, and then licked it off!"

His hand comes in contact with my cheek. "Be quiet."

I fall against the mattress again. I groan, my eyes closing.

Bryar chuckles. "You'll never learn. If you continue making those kinds of noises around one of us, then we will go into 'violate' mode." He climbs on top of me. "Let's get this gown on you."

*

Bryar's hands were unwelcome on my body, and they still are. Getting dressed doesn't take a whole fucking hour or anything close to it. I don't know the time.

And when he left the room, the others were, like, cheering, and went on to ask him how I was. He told them that they'll have to test me out themselves, so now I'm waiting for another one of the rabbits to show up and violate me.

I stare up at the ceiling, counting the beams. "One… two… three… four… four…" I put my arms behind my head, feeling the gown raise up well past my hips. I grumble and push it back down. Despite the length, this shirt-type thing is actually really big and comfortable. Comfortable enough to sleep in, but I don't plan on sleeping anytime soon.

I carefully put my arms behind my head and bite my lip, tilting my head to the side. "Four… um, five… seven…" I rub my face. "I can't count worth shit."

I close my eyes, then, and that's probably the worst decision I could've made.

I fall asleep instantly.

*

It feels like only a few seconds have passed when I open my eyes, but I know it's not. It's been several hours because I can't hear any laughter nor talking, and there's a dark figure in the doorway into my room.

I tense and try to appear I'm asleep. I squeeze my eyes shut.

I hear a laugh.

"I could see that—you tensing up."

Fuck, it's Iero. He's probably going to do that examination on me.

I tremble.

"I can see that, too. I can feel it." I suspect his knees hit the floor, and he's now crawling over to me. "I love watching my victims right before I touch them, inspect their _tight_ , lovely bodies."

His knees continue to slide against the concrete floor. I instantly shiver at the sound.

"Oh," he moans. "I love it when they do that, too," he whispers from right beside me. My eyes pop open, and I look at him through the dark. I can tell he's not wearing the bunny mask, but not much else on his face. It's too dark in here. "I want you to close your eyes now. Don't move at all."

I obey, not wanting to get hurt, but I know that it would be inevitable considering I'm in the presence of a sadistic maniac.

Iero seems to be pleased, for I hear him start to purr, or that could just be a really long, drawn-out moan. He cups my cheek, running his thumb along my cheekbone. "Lovely," he murmurs, and he gets on the mattress.

It's like he weighs almost nothing. The bed doesn't dip at all, not even when he goes to sit in front of me, grabbing hold of my knees and pushing them up, up, up until they touch my chest. I hear my back pop for the second time that day, and I can't help but let out a moan. Gross.

Iero chuckles a bit before running his hands up and down my legs, feeling at the muscles, the bones. He grips at my left calf with his right hand firmly, and he rubs it using his thumb. "Do you work out, run a lot, what?"

My mouth opens, and I look up at the ceiling. "Huh."

"You have strong calves." He moves around on the bed a little, and then I feel a short, soft bite right on the inside of it.

My mouth continues to hang open.

He starts to murmur to himself before raising up and running his hands down to hold my thighs. He rubs them with his palms, occasionally scratching at the skin with his fingernails. "Were you fat once?"

I slowly spread my legs and look at him. "You can tell?"

He smirks, and I can see it just glow. "I have my skills." He closes my legs. "Close your eyes."

I do as his hands go up the short gown, stopping at my hips. He touches the bones, strokes them before moving inward, ghosting over the skin stretched out over my groin. I try not to make a sound of discomfort. This doesn't feel good.

I peek out the corner of my eye, and I regret it.

Iero's just looking down at me, shaking his head, and when he sighs, I instantly close my eyes again. My heart beats in my throat.

"Do you—no, no, let me check."

He pulls my gown back down and goes to sit on my hips. He grabs my wrists with a single hand and roughly pushes them up, letting them lie above me, off the mattress. I clench my jaw, biting down on my lip.

Don't make a sound, don't make a sound.

I feel the sleeves of the gown drop from my arms, my shoulders, going to gather at where my torso begins. Iero rubs at my right shoulder with his fingers before running it down to my underarm. He clicks his tongue. "I like that you're sweaty."

I want to say my thanks, but Iero stops me by dropping his head down and sticking his nose into my armpit.

My eyes open, my lips parting.

Iero pulls back and turns to stare at me. It's a shame I can't see the features on his face. "You don't—no, wait." He sits up, then, and lets go of my wrists. I keep them above me just in case, but Iero drags them back down and goes on to rip the gown's front down. I feel the ties in the back loosen, and it isn't long before my entire chest is exposed to him.

He goes to touch my sternum, slowly going to each of my nipples, twisting them each until I let out a small, soft sound of pleasure.

He laughs.

"You don't shave, do you?"

I turn my head to look at him. "Is that what you were trying to find out?"

He digs at my side with a hand. "Answer my question."

I bite my lip. "No, I don't."

His nails dig in more. "We'll have to fix that because, well, you see, I like my prey shaved and very, very clean before I play with them." His free hand grabs at the gown over my front, over my groin, over the thing that's slowly becoming hard under his fucked-up touch. "But there are always other things that I can check to make sure my boys are fully functional."

"And what's that?"

He raises up on his knees, slowly crawling to hover above me. I close my eyes when I hear the sound of his jeans unzipping.

I start trembling, and I cover my face. "No, no, please, don't."

I feel him get closer, and he rips at my hands, scratching the backs of them with chewed nails that cause me to open my mouth and scream, and he takes this as his chance to slide himself down my throat.

I start to cry and moan and writhe around on the bed, choking on him as he continues to slip deeper into my throat, hitting the back of it. Vomit rises, but I cough and struggle to keep it down. It tastes horrible, and I want to spit it out and curl into a ball and cry, but his hands knot into my hair as he goes down even deeper. I hear him let out a low moan, and his hips start rotating. I raise my hands, going to grip onto the bones. I push him out, and he voluntarily helps me. I want to rejoice, but my joy is soon ruined by him leaking out onto my chest. He grips himself, gathering enough of the liquid before leaning forward, grabbing hold of my head, and rubbing it in.

I close my eyes tightly, whining as he wipes his seed in my black hair.

His mouth presses to mine. When he pulls back, he giggles. "Fuck, you have great lips." He growls a bit before going back to my mouth, biting and nipping and licking and kissing. "So fuckable," he murmurs.

Iero steps off my bed, then, leaving me in a pathetic mess. He stares at me with evil eyes, letting out a loud chuckle. "Shit," he says, shaking his head. "You have a cute nose." And with those final words, he leaves me.

I clean myself off the best I can, slowly pull on the gown, and curl into a ball. I lie next to the blood stain at the top of the bed. I put my nose in it, but all I can smell is sweat, semen, and Iero.


	3. Dry Corn Flakes

It's still quiet when I wake, and I begin to wonder if I ever slept at all. I raise up, grabbing at the edges of the gown when they ride up over my hips. I grumble to myself and slowly stand up, my knees a bit shaky, my hair matted to my neck with sweat and sperm. I push it away the best I can and start toward the door.

I pause when I reach it, my hand just hovering above the doorknob.

Should I leave?

What'll happen if I open the door?

What if they're going to torture me some more?

I squeal to myself and bounce back to sit on my bed, my knees pulled to my chest. "I am _not_ leaving."

I don't obey my own words, though, since I'm already up and ready to open the door after a few seconds.

All I need to do is turn it and—

The door opens by itself, and I am smashed in the nose. I fall back and press down on the bleeding part with both my hands. I roll around on the floor, moaning, groaning, whining.

I hear a chuckle above me, and when I open my eyes, I see Iero standing above me. He's wearing the bunny mask and a pair of skinny jeans and a white t-shirt stained with—no doubt—old blood. He points at me and continues to laugh. "Look at you."

I narrow my eyes. "Why would you open the door when I was standing in front of it?"

He laughs more. "Dude, I didn't know you were there. I was going to wake you up and fix you some Goddamn food, and now, I don't even want to anymore. This is just priceless!" He falls to his knees, holds his stomach. "You're covered in blood!"

I stay silent as I put pressure on my nose.

Iero straightens up and wipes at his eyes. He's probably crying. "Do you want some breakfast? I mean, you're gonna need some food in you. We all like guys who put up a good fight."

My chest heaves from heavy breathing. "Can I clean off my nose first?"

He shakes his head. "Nope." He walks out of the room, and my eyes widen.

"Wait! Don't go! Can I, at least, have some pants before I go in there?"

I hear his laughter, and I frown, knowing that the answer to that question would be "no", as well.

*

I sit in a room that resembles a kitchen.

It has counters, appliances, a table, and stools that make it seem like a kitchen.

It even has bright lighting.

But I know it's not a kitchen.

I have a feeling they do some terrible things in here.

I glance around, paranoia sinking in.

A bowl of cereal drops in front of me. My head lowers, and I start counting the pieces of food.

Iero sighs from behind me. "You're so fuckin' weird. Do you honestly think I'm going to poison you with _corn flakes_?"

I shrug and pop one in my mouth. It tastes dry, and I cringe at it, spit it out onto the table.

Iero groans above me. He dips his hand in the food, grabs a handful, and shoves it right into my mouth. He holds his hand there, making sure I'll actually eat it all without spitting it back out, like a child with disgusting baby food.

So, I sit there, arms crossed over my chest as I continue munching on the flakes of cereal Iero keeps in my mouth. After a few minutes, the dry breakfast items get a little bit of flavor, and I resort to call them Frosted Flakes. I can taste the slight covering of icing glazed over them.

His hand pulls away, and I voluntarily eat the rest of the cereal.

He goes over to one of the counter, his back to me. Glasses cling together, water starts pouring, and a machine brews. He's making coffee, and I'm scared to ask him for a cup. I continue eating as another one of the men enters the room. I don't turn my head, but I wish I did when I hear Bryar—the one who walked in—mutter, "Fuck, I forgot my mask."

I just want to look at _one_ of these guy's faces. Damn.

I finish my corn flakes when Bryar walks back in. I slide away the bowl. It makes a scratchy sound when it moves across the wooden surface.

I expect Bryar to go over to Iero, stand by him, and wait for some coffee, but instead, he steps toward me, a hand going on my back, the other on my thigh. He squeezes the muscle , softly chuckling. "I see Iero had some fun with you last night." The hand on my back goes to pick at the hair on my head that clumps together. He pushes up his mask a bit to bump his mouth against my ear. He nips at the lobe. "I'll be the next one to play with you." He growls a bit, and I shudder.

"He's not shaved yet."

Bryar jumps back, his mask going to cover his face again. He looks over at Iero, blue eyes wide. "And you fucked him?"

My own eyes widen. They're going to fuck me? My legs join me in the chair. I wrap my arms around them, staring at my bare knees. I count the dark hairs on them. I'm going to miss them, as odd as that sounds.

"No, I didn't fuck him. He blew me."

I frown.

"Oh, was he any good?"

I close my eyes.

"He was too fucking _whiny_. He kept crying."

I try not to whimper.

"But I gotta say, he's a very good kisser."

I'm lifted out of my chair, then, and my back presses against the table top. Hands go to the sides of the table, by my head, and a mouth pushes against mine.

The lips feel like Iero. I raise my hands and attempt to push him away, but hands grab onto my wrists, and my arms are above my head now. I'm way too used to this position. My back hardly pops this time around.

Another hand touches my leg, making it wrap around Iero's hip. "I want to lick him right now," I hear Bryar's deep voice mumble. I suspect his mouth is placed on the inner part of my leg.

I start whimpering, much against my dismay.

I hear a sound that is similar to a door closing, and my eyes immediately open.

If there's a door, I can escape.

I can escape!

I try moving, but when I buck and twist and turn, Iero puts more of his weight on me, and Bryar spreads my legs even more, starting to kiss up the side of each of my thighs.

Footsteps approach the kitchen and stop by the doorway. "Iero, Bryar."

I think I recognize that voice, but I'm not sure from where. The two men violating me pull back and start over to the other two men that ventured in, interrupting them, but saving me.

Their voices are low as they whisper to each other. I can catch a few words from their conversations, but I don't have enough pieces to put together a sentence, but I have a feeling they're talking about me.

"Man, he has nice junk," the voice I recognize from before says, and I try to pull the gown back over my groin, but a pair of hands stop me, and another pair rips off the gown completely.

Cool air hits me, and I wince a bit. Goosebumps overtake my body, causing me to shiver and the men to giggle, laugh, chuckle. I keep my eyes closed.

"Is Pelissier going to clean him up today?" an unknown voice asks.

I groan. A hand touches my knee and rubs it comfortably, affectionately. Well, that's what I think it is.

"Yeah, he's going to fix him up," the person nearest me says, and I notice it's Iero. "Toro, do you want to carry him there?"

"Sure!"

"Hey, I want to!"

The two people hit each other, and when they stop, arms wrap around me, pulling me off the table, holding me close. "I got you, sweetie," the second man murmurs in my ear. His hand goes down to squeeze my ass before he walks out of the room.

"Remember—he's not shaved yet," Bryar calls after us. "He could carry some diseases."

The man's chest moves from light, soft giggles. "I don't really care if you're shaved or not." He rubs my back. "They're just crazy."

I whimper and press my nose into his neck.

He laughs some more. "Pelissier's gonna fix you up really good, though."

"Stop talking to him!" Iero says. I open my eyes and see him standing by the doorway, watching us with his hazel eyes. I shiver, closing my eyes again. The boy holds me close.

"I don't have to."

"I thought I told you to stop!" Iero laughs. "You're gonna get too attached to him, Way."

My eyes shoot open. I look at the guy holding me. Way? My throat tightens.

Mikey?


	4. Razor Burn

A few months ago, when I came over to my parents' house to visit for the weekend, I knew something bad had happened.

I had looked around for a bit before walking down the hallway and slipping into my parents' bedroom. I spotted my mom there, but there was no sign of my father. The strange part was that she was hunched over the side of the bed, her head in her hands, and it seemed like she was crying.

"What's wrong?" I had asked, and I sat down next to her, rubbing her back with one hand. The duffel bag I had on my shoulder dropped to the floor. "Mom, what's wrong?" I repeated when I got no answer.

"Mikey," she had mumbled into her hands. "He's, he's… y'know how he's been missing?"

I gave a small grave nod and swallowed.

"The police can't find him. They called off the search."

I had instantly started crying, feeling the pain of losing my baby brother, and now, when I look up at him, face hidden behind a mask, I feel really stupid. He's not dead. Why would I even think about him being dead? He's right here.

I poke his shoulder, and he grabs onto my finger, rubs it. "You're gonna look so pretty when Pelissier's done with you."

I frown, and he just smirks when he notices my expression. "Don't get too excited. You have to wait. He already has an appointment with one of the boys Iero picked up a few weeks ago. It's just a touch-up—shouldn't take long." Mikey shakes his head and bites his lip. "I don't like the guy—doesn't touch me right." I imagine his nose is wrinkled behind the mask.

I stay silent. I lean my head against his chest, closing my eyes.

His hand goes and brushes hair out of my face. "You look familiar," he murmurs as he turns into the room where Pelissier's supposed to clean me.

_It's me, Mikey! It's your big brother—Gerard! Gee! Remember!_

I stare at him. "Weird."

I smell rubbing alcohol, and I cough. I glance around the room, checking to see what's in here. The room looks like the same as the other rooms—it has the same wooden ceiling and the same gray, concrete floor. I grimace at the smell once again. I don't want to cough.

In the middle of the room is the table I was on when I first woke up, and it causes me to shiver, knowing I'll be returned to the very same spot. Maybe that Pelissier guy's gonna rape me after he cleanses me?

I whimper, and Mikey rubs my back. "You're cute." And he raises the mask up for a moment to lick my ear.

"That's so gross," I murmur, but he doesn't hear.

Mikey pulls back and sets me in the second chair on the far end of the room. He pats my head. "Pelissier shouldn't be long. Be good now."

And he turns around and walks off.

I pull my legs to my chest and rub my shins, wanting to savor how the hairs on them feel, knowing they'll be gone soon.

A door to the left of me opens, and in steps the man who must be Pelissier, but I can't be for sure. This guy isn't wearing a bunny mask—just a surgical one. I gulp. It reminds me of a hospital—I hate hospitals.

Another man enters the room behind Pelissier, and he's dressed in the same outfit I'm in, except for the fact he's wearing pants, and I'm not. I begin to grow angry, but I quickly lose it when I study the other closely.

He's balding and has a bit of stubble on his face. Self-consciously, I raise a hand to touch my chin, picking at some pimples I haven't noticed sprouted up.

The man's legs, especially the muscles on the back of his shins, are scratched up, and some of the wounds are even bleeding.

I touch the back of my legs. I don't want Pelissier near my legs with a razor.

I bite my lip.

Or my armpits.

Or my face.

Or my dick.

Pelissier leads the other guy to the table, and he jumps onto it, immediately leaning back, so he can be lying down. Thankfully, the doctor stands in front of my field of vision, so I won't get to see the guy undress and Pelissier start lathering up his legs, his underarms, and his genitals with a horrible-smelling shaving cream.

I watch him take out a straight razor, shine it in the overhead light bulb, and put it on the bald guy's knee.

I only hear him start squealing, whimpering, muttering "too rough, too rough" before I slowly dissociate myself from this place.

*

I'm in my room later that evening, a frown on my face as I gaze down at the bowl of food Iero has just given me. He says it's oatmeal, but it just looks like puddles of bird shit.

I pick up the spoon and move it around the bowl's bottom. "How do you feel?" Iero says. He hasn't left my room. He wants to watch me eat—the fucking creep.

I stare at the bowl. "Clean. Is it safe to eat this?" When I raise the spoon, a clump of the shit falls off and lands back in the water with a loud _splat_. I wrinkle my nose.

Iero chuckles and walks toward my bed. He sits down beside me. "Yeah. It's safe. I got that new kid to make it."

I look over at him. "I thought I was the new kid."

He shakes his head. "No, no, the other one. He was the new kid before we took you." He reaches over and lays his hand on my hip, cupping it. "His name's Mike."

I nod. "That's normal. All you other guys have weird names." Except for Mikey.

Iero chuckles. "It's actually our last names. We don't use first names in here."

"Then, how come Mike gets to use his first name?" I ask. I place the spoon in the oatmeal, dig a clump out, and guide it to my mouth. I chew it, swallow. I taste cinnamon. "This is actually pretty good."

Iero's hand grows tighter on my hip. "He hasn't earned the right to use his last name yet. I don't think he will. He fucking sucks at everything."

"I like his cooking," I inject, shoving another spoonful in. "What's his last name? What does he suck at? Tell me everything." I can feel myself talking out the corner of my mouth.

Iero smiles softly and leans his head against my shoulder. "His last name's Pedicone. He sucks at everything sexual. And that's all I can tell you now." He looks at me. "Are you comfortable in your clothes?"

I nod and actually smile. They gave me a purple scrubs top with drawstring gray shorts. I curl my toes. "Yes, I do. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he whispers in my ear. He takes the bowl of food out of my hands. "I want you to do something now. Before you go to bed."

I bite my lip and swallow the rest of the oatmeal in my mouth. "What is it?" I gaze at me, a little bit glad he doesn't have the bunny mask on again, but still disappointed because I can't see the features on his face that well.

"Lie on your back," he says in a low, seductive voice. "And spread your legs."

I do as he says. I expect him to tell me to undress, then, and maybe even hover above me, but he gets up and stands over my bed, looking down at me with those hazel eyes—the only thing I can tell from his face. "Touch yourself. You'll get a better night's sleep."

I obey. I don't know why. Maybe I'm changing. Maybe it's because I don't want to get hurt.

I move around on the bed, lay my right hand on my stomach, use my left hand to undo the strings holding the bottoms snug on my waist, and slip the free hand down.

Iero moans a bit.

All I can feel is bare skin and small bumps before I get to what's slowly becoming hard.

Iero moans even more.

That's enough to get me going, and soon, I'm releasing into my hand and breathing heavily, whimpering.

Iero drops down to the end of the mattress and crawls up to me, resting his groin on my hip. I feel it's a bit damp as he presses against me, laying his head on my shoulder. "You're a good boy," he mutters, patting my chest.

I slip my hand out of my pants and wipe it on the mattress, letting the come stain become one with the blood and the sweat. I make a _hm_ sound to show my thanks. I turn my head to look away from Iero and close my eyes, feeling my whole body loosen up as I relax and come down from my high.

Iero's arms wrap around my waist, pulls me in close. "I think you're going to last longer than the other boy," he says, nodding. "You obey me and even let me hold you."

"I don't mind," I mumble. I hardly think I'm making any sense.

"It's all part of a test, though. Don't get too attached. You may not stay for long."

My eyes open. "What do you mean?"

"We could end up killing you."

I stiffen.

He grabs the bowl and spoon and walks out of the room. "Goodnight, Gerard."


	5. Pink Nail Polish

The photograph—paper clipped to a file folder—of the noiret lays face-up on the brunet's desk as he reaches out to grab the boy beside him. He shoves him down to the top of the desk, smashing his nose into the photo. "You got me _him_. It can't be him, Iero. He's fucking _famous_."

Iero struggles to raise from the desk. He grabs the edges, tries to push himself up. He struggles to breathe. "We, we, we got his brother before. It wasn't hard."

The brunet shoves his face down again. "Does he know they're brothers?"

Iero quickly shakes his head to the best of his ability. The brunet keeps a firm hold.

"Good. Let him be the first to ruin him. It'll violate both his body and mind. I like them fucked up." The man pulls his hand back and goes to sit down in the black chair placed behind his desk. His feet swing up onto the wood, and his ankles cross.

"I wanted to… be the first," Iero murmurs, as he slowly begins to raise up from the desk, shoulders shaking a bit.

The brunet eyes him. "Come here. Sit on my lap." He sets his feet on the ground and slowly rotates the chair, turning his body to Iero. Iero plops down, looking at the brunet before getting smacked across the face with the back of a hand. He falls. "Way's going to be the one to bed him first. Got it?"

Iero slowly nods from his position on the floor. He sits up, his hand on his face, hiding the pink skin. "But, but, B—"

The brunet gets up from the chair and kicks Iero in the ribs, causing him to drop onto his side, wrapping his arms around his stomach, the urge to vomit rising. The brunet drops to his knees and looks down at Iero, softly touching his exposed cheek. He can feel heat radiating off it. He smiles, bends down, kisses it. "It's _Schechter_ , Iero. Surely you would remember that."

"We rarely see you. You're always locked up in here."

Schechter kisses his cheek again. "I'm the boss, and what I say goes. So, that means Way will be the first to fuck the new guy."

"But, but… _I_ found him."

Schechter jabs Iero in the neck with a finger. "Does it really matter? _What I say fucking goes_."

Schechter stands back up, then, and starts over to his desk. He scans the surface for a few moments before flinging the folder of the newest victim off the surface and grabbing the plastic mask off to the side. He slides it on, snapping the rubber band into place firmly behind his head. He blinks his blue eyes through the slits for sight. They're covered by a blue stripe, matching his irises. He licks his lips. They're covered by a mouth that's wide, reaches the cheekbones, lined in red. The insides of the mouth are blue, and Schechter starts lapping at it with his tongue, tasting sweat and blood.

The mask is of a clown, and he turns his head to look at Iero. "Get your ass up. Go tell Way about his present."

Iero jumps without a warning. He starts toward the door, but Schechter raises a hand, beckons a finger. "Come here first."

Iero cautiously follows Schechter's orders as he goes to stand in front of him. Schechter peers at him through the mask before sliding it over his head. He gazes at Iero, studying his pale features. He touches his cheek, rubs the spot where he had struck him. He kisses his mouth.

Iero responds well. He knocks Schechter's mask off the top of his head and pushes him back to his desk, climbing on top of him, pulling off his clothes.

Schechter doesn't fight back.

*

Mikey's painting my toenails light pink whenever Iero walks into my room. He studies us for a moment before crouching down beside my brother, whispering something into his ear. From behind the mask, I can see Mikey's eyes brighten, and he slowly goes to turn his head toward me. "Thanks for the news, Iero."

Iero gives him a smile, and although I can't see it, I know it's creepy, and it reads nothing pleasant.

Iero leaves, and Mikey screws the lid to the nail polish back on tightly. He tosses it aside, and my head turns to watch it join the pile of shit in the corner.

I get pinned to the bed, and Mikey sits on me. He claws at my clothes. My eyes widen, and I slowly begin to realize what Iero had probably told him.

I twist and turn on the bed when my shirt disappears off my torso. I end up on my stomach, and I grip onto the mattress with white knuckles. "No, no, please stop."

Mikey laughs. It's exactly how I remember it. My vision gets blurry, and my throat constricts.

The brunet's hands attach to my hips, slowly peeling off the bottoms they had given me just earlier that day. I begin to sob. I try to fight it, but Mikey's gotten tougher since the times we wrestled when we were little.

He keeps me down as he roughly shoves his fingers into my entrance. I can feel no sign of lubricant on them, but my standards must've been too high. This is a torturous place. They wouldn't want their victims getting enjoyment out of this.

He doesn't prepare me enough. He jams in fully after he undresses, and I open my mouth and scream and pound my fists against the bed. "Stop it!" I wail, tears finally breaking through and falling onto my cheeks.

Mikey doesn't stop.

My mind rips in two, and I completely lose it.

I yell. I kick. I scream.

"Help me! He's raping me!"

I screech, and Mikey moans above me.

"That's what I like to hear."

I try to overpower him, and I manage to get him off me for a second, letting me have the chance to scramble off my bed and crawl over to the door. I touch the doorknob, grab at it, but he hooks his fingers around my ankles, pulling me back. My shoulders pop out of place. I cry.

"Stop it, stop it, stop it."

I claw at the door, leaving long fingernail scratches. My nails bleed.

"Get him away from me! Help me! Iero! Bryar! _Help_!"

Mikey's bare chest presses against my back, sticking them together, soaked with sweat. "You're perfect." He rubs my shoulders, kissing my ear.

I scrunch my nose and close my eyes. "Stop it." My voice is hoarse, but this doesn't stop my little brother. It just helps him carry on, and it isn't long before he finishes inside me.

He pants when he pulls out. He rolls onto his back and stares at me. I don't stare back. My eyes are still closed, and I'm subconsciously raking at the door with my bleeding nails. They hurt to the touch, but I don't want to stop.

Mikey touches my back softly. "Kiss me." He cups the back of my neck, turns my face around, and plants a sweet kiss on my top lip. He licks at it, tastes the sweat, chuckles, pulls back. He studies my face, and I study his. "You look familiar," he points out for the second time.

Tears slowly creep down and land on the hard floor. I think I have splinters in my chest.

"Who do I look like?" I ask, my lips barely moving. My throat aches from stretching my vocal cords. The fuck didn't even last thirty minutes.

Mikey looks at me. I hope he remembers me. I remember him. He looks the same.

He seems to get it. "Gerard." His hazel eyes drop down, scanning my body. "I just fucked you—my brother."

I nod. I wait for him to start freaking out, but he doesn't. This place must've changed him.

He hugs me. He plants kisses all over my shoulder. "I love you. I missed you. Fuck, you smell bad."

I pull away from him and lay my head against the floor, looking ahead. "It's this room. There's a bunch of shit in it."

"We just forgot to clean up the trash before you moved in."

"No, no. I mean, there's literally shit in here. You guys never gave me a bathroom nor a bucket to do my business in."

Mikey laughs, pokes my nose. "I'll see what I can do to get you a better room, bro."

I push his hand away. "Don't call me that. You raped me."

He shakes his head. He stands and scoops me up in his arms, setting me down on my mattress. He gives me his clothes to wear. They're baggy, and they smell better than what I expected. I curl into a ball, and he tilts his head to the side. "Do something for me."

I've heard that too many times. "What?"

He gets down on his knees. "Suck me."

"No. Go away. You raped me." I turn on my side, facing my back to him.

"I'll tell Iero that you weren't a good fuck. He'll have you killed faster than a fly trapped in a window." Mikey touches my hair. "I want to show you something."

I sigh, slowly turn around. I feel the mattress creak under me with the weight of myself rolling around and Mikey leaning in, pressing the tip of his dick to my lips. I take him in and set a hand on his thigh, gripping at the muscle. It hurts a bit. My nails burn, and my shoulders feel broken.

I continue to softly suck on his member—I'm starting to get a bit surprised at how good I am at this—and when, my hand goes down to stroke at his balls, I pause.

There's nothing there.

I press my palm in between his legs, trying to find his testicles, like he's lost them or misplaced them, but when I reach his perineum, I start freaking out. I pop my mouth off him and narrow my eyes, attempting to grow night vision.

I see nothing.

I touch his damp length, lift it up.

I gag a bit.

Mikey doesn't have any testicles.

I slowly look up at him with wide eyes, my hands shaking. He's giving me a light smirk. "Get some rest. You're going to go into shock." He kisses my forehead, and then leaves.

My body seems to explode all at once.

I barely manage to crawl over to the other side of the room and undress myself before a flood of vomit, diarrhea, and come join the puddles of shit and piss on the floor.


	6. Cut My Hair

_Snip. Snip._

_Snip. Snip. Snip._

I slowly look over my shoulder, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end.

_Snip._

"Hello there," growls the fanged one. "Why don't you sit down for a while? Relax?" He shakes his hand in my face.

_Snip._

My eyes seem to cross as I study his hand. Freddy Krueger?

_Snip. Snip._

A lock of my hair drops to the floor. Edward Scissorhands?

"Sit down and relax," he coos, slicing another strand of my hair.

I'm petrified. I silently watch my hair land by my feet, on my toes. I try and shake away the threads.

The man's hand cuts into my throat. The blades dig into my skin, grab onto my Adam's apple.

"Sit _down_."

My knees give way. I fall to the floor, crumble into a ball. Blood flows from my neck, staining the floor, my clothes, my hair a bright-red color.

"Oh, my, my. Don't you look simply gorgeous?"

Darkness consumes me.

_Snip. Snip._

*

I rub at my eyes. "May I please have some coffee?" I plead to the masked man standing by the counter. I pull on the sleeves Mikey's shirt I'm still wearing. "I hardly had any sleep last night. I need something to help me through the day."

I hear a chuckle. "You need some sex. Your body's telling you that Way sucked last night." He raises a hand to scratch the back of his blond head. "But I guess you can have some." He turns around and sets a mug of caffeine in front of me. I cup my hands around it and take a drink. "You have a nice Adam's apple," Bryar comments, as he spins back around to fix himself a cup.

I softly choke on the liquid, but still manage to down it. My back hurts. I stare at him. I let my fingers caress my throat. "Why would you say such a thing like that?" I ask, my eyes widening.

Bryar looks over at me with narrowed eyes behind his mask. "What's wrong with you?" he says, shaking his head. With that, he takes his cup and walks out of the kitchen.

I lower my head and trace the rim of the coffee mug.

*

I want to do something entertaining. There's nothing recreational here, and it sickens me. I could be working on another installment of my comic. I could be looking for a new apartment. I could be hanging out with my girlfriend.

My chest burns. My palm presses against my sternum. I start to softly whimper when Mikey walks into my room. Our eyes connect, and I shiver. "What do you want?"

He lightly knocks on the wood of my door with a few knuckles. "I found you a room, well, a better room than this."

I stand up. "Does it have better clothes? Where's it at? Do I have to shit on the floor?"

I imagine he's smirking. He fixes his mask. "There's a working toilet and shower, yes, and you'll just have to ask the owner of the room if you can wear some of their clothes."

My face drops. "Who am I sharing a room with?"

"Iero. He volunteered." Mikey beckons for me. "Come on. I'll show it to you." He turns around and starts out of the room. I quickly follow him out, my nostrils being freed from the horrible stench of my old room.

He leads me through small hallways that would aid a claustrophobic person into fainting. I wrap my arms around my stomach.

It's dark in the hallways, too. I can't see around me that well. When I touch a wall, it feels cold, a bit wet. I think it's dirt because I can smell it, too, and when I lightly poke it, a clump of it falls off and lands on the floor with a loud squishing sound that makes me think of diarrhea.

Finally, we stop walking, and Mikey takes a step aside to push me into a doorway. I groan. "Fuck, I missed," he mumbles, and he goes to push me into the room, closing the door behind me.

I lie on my back, looking up at the ceiling. It has the same wooden beams, like the rest of the building. It also has the same concrete floor. I'm glad I didn't get a concussion from Mikey throwing me in here.

This room has a comforting tone to it. There's dim lighting in here, like a lamp's on.

I sit up, rub my arms.

I meet the eyes of Iero, who is standing above me.

He's not wearing a mask.

"Wow."

Iero furrows his brow and tilts his head. "What?"

"How old are you?"

He continues to stare at me with a confused expression. "Twenty-four."

I smile. "You don't look it."

He smiles back, and I see rows of slightly crooked teeth. "Well, thanks."

I stay seated on the floor, just staring at Iero until he breaks eye contact and lowers his head. "Follow me. We gotta fix you up." He turns on his heel and starts into the small room connected to his bedroom.

I don't like the sound of that. I swallow nervously, but still get up from the floor and hurry after him.

The bathroom is white and clean, and the floor is still concrete. I can see puddles of water by the shower, and it makes my toes curl into the balls of my feet.

"Hey, Gerard."

I raise my head to stare at Iero. He's standing by a metal bar stool. In his hands, a pair of scissors rest. He beckons for me. "Sit down."

I freeze. "Why?" I ask curiously.

"Gotta cut your hair."

My first reaction is to grab a handful of my hair and pull. "No, my hair's fine. I like it long."

Iero laughs and reaches forward to grab the front of my shirt. He pulls me in close, makes me sit on the stool. "I like it long, too, but you'll need to have your hair cut, so people won't recognize you. I'm going to dye it, too." He twirls the scissors in his hand before grabbing a lock of hair and cutting it off.

I flinch and watch the piece of hair float to the ground. "Why can't I just wear a mask, like you guys?"

Iero sighs, shakes his head. "You haven't got that privilege yet, dumbass. Besides, when we go up to the world, we don't wear our masks. That's just stupid."

_Go up to the world._

I furrow my brow and look at the ground. "Where are we?" I survey my nails. There's dirt and grim under them. I try to pick it out, but it hurts, and I end up whining and closing my eyes.

Iero drops the scissors. They _clink_ on the ground.

I close my eyes tightly. _Snip. Snip._

He smashes his nose into the side of my hair he just cut. He touches my sides, squeezes them.

_Snip. Snip._

I start hyperventilating.

His mouth presses against my ear. He licks inside it. "You're in Hell, kid."

He reaches down and grabs for the scissors. He puts the blades to my head, slides them together.

_Snip._


	7. Makeshift Gag

"I _guess_ I like it. I don't know. It's… _different_."

Iero grins from behind me. I can see his reflection in the mirror. "I fucking love it. I never saw anyone that attractive in short hair—or _red_ hair, for that matter." His hand goes into my newly-cut-and-dyed hair. He strokes at the locks. "It's gorgeous."

I slowly nod my head.

His hands go down to my hips, then. "I just might have to rape you."

My eyes widen.

*

I bite down on the fabric in my mouth as my body convulses, as I release onto the bed covers. I slowly relax, lying down on the mess I made prior. I rest my head on my arms, breathing deeply. Iero hovers above me, kissing my shoulder blades. "You can talk now."

I raise a lazy hand to pull out the piece of torn clothing that was covering my mouth. I'm still breathing heavily. Iero goes to sit on my hips, placing his hands on my back as he starts to massage it. My groin digs deeper into the mess I made.

"How did that feel?" he asks.

"I've never had that done to me before."

"Your girlfriend never gave you a good ol' rimjob?" he asks with a southern accent, and we both end up laughing as he rolls off me to lie on his back. We stare at each other.

"No. My girlfriend wasn't into sucking ass," I reply with a smile.

Iero smiles back and laughs. "Your loss." He flicks my neck. "Your hair dye ran." He raises into a sitting position. "I'll get a towel." He leaves the room to step into the small bathroom to the left of me.

I slowly roll over onto my back, looking up at the ceiling. I subconsciously start to count the beams again. Am I really that bored with being here, with him? I chew on my lip and get hit in the face with a damp towel. I hear Iero's laugh.

I pull off the towel and stare at it. There're blood stains on it, but that's no surprise. I start to wipe off my neck, and then move on to clean up the mess I was lying in. I can feel Iero watching me. "Do you want some fresh clothes?"

Before I can answer, he's already at the wooden dresser by the bathroom door, picking out clothes.

I throw the towel on the floor. "How come you have such a nice room?" I note the large bed, the bedside tables, the lamps by the bedside tables, the bathroom with the working toilet and shower, and the dresser he's standing by. "Why couldn't I have a room like this?"

He spins around, clothes close to his chest. "Because I'm second-in-command." He thinks for a moment. "Well, I'd like to think I am." He sits down beside me, handing me the clothes. I slip them on and smile at how it's a band t-shirt and skinny jeans.

"Who's the leader, then?" I turn to stare at him, and I can't stop myself from talking even more. "Why aren't you the leader? You seem in control of everything."

Iero seems a bit annoyed when he pulls on clothes. He stares at me. "I don't know" is his only reply before going to lie back down on the damp bed covers. He looks ahead, and I watch him as his eyes slowly close.

I decide not to disturb him.

*

A hand grazes across my shoulders as I eat from a bowl of corn flakes. "Did you have a good night last night?" says the boy I grew up with. The hand near my shoulders goes up to my head, and his long fingers thread their way into the strands of cherry blossom. "Like the new color on you."

I frown and try to brush his hand away. "Mm, thanks." I scratch my chin. "And I had somewhat of a good night." I start eating from the cereal again, sniffing.

"Did you and Iero do anything?"

I shrug. "I'm surprised he hasn't told you about it yet."

Mikey laughs as he takes a seat beside me. "Iero can be very secretive concerning a good fuck." His feet go up on the table, and I stare at them. I admire his toenails—at how they're painted light pink, like mine.

"Who's the leader of his place?" I ask, lowering my head, moving the remaining pieces of the corn flakes around the bottom of the bowl. "Iero wouldn't tell me…" I pause. "Why don't you guys use your first names?" I'm hoping Mikey will tell me what's going on here, since he's my brother and all.

But those hopes are crushed when Mikey doesn't tell me. He, instead, stands up and grabs onto my hand, pulling me up from the chair I'm stationed in. "Follow me," he says, staring at me through the eye holes of his mask. "And be quiet."

I only nod, and he leads me through the hallways of this place. My head whips back and forth, and I examine the walls, but they're not really walls.

I reach over and touch the surface, like I had done before. A clump of dirt falls right off and lands on the concrete floor not too far from where we were previously walking. I look over at the other wall, and I swallow. "Mikey, where are we?" I bite my lip and actually start bouncing after him. "Iero told me we're in Hell, but I don't think that's possible. Mikey, Mikey?"

His hand comes around and smacks me hard against the mouth. It stings, and I'm frozen in shock for a few seconds. He stares at me with narrowed hazel eyes. "Shut the fuck up," he hisses before straightening up and continuing down the small hallway. Slowly, I follow him again, but I keep a distance between us.

My hand is still over my mouth when we reach the end of the hallway. It feels like my lip's bleeding, maybe even my gums. I can taste blood, but I don't want to tell Mikey that, so I stay silent as he feels around the dirt wall. He pulls out a small key from his right, and it's encrusted with mulch and other earthly materials. He jams it into the lock of the door we're in front of before shoving it back into the wall and slipping inside. I quickly shuffle after, hearing the fertilizer from prior drop onto the floor with a _splat_.

The room I've stepped into is like the other rooms, except this one doesn't have a bed—it has a desk and chair.

I look around, biting my lip. "Where are we?"

Mikey rips off his bunny mask and throws it onto the floor. He goes over to the desk, sitting in the chair. "Schechter's office." He nods and starts going through the drawers.

"Um, who?"

Mikey waves his hands around. "Be quiet." He pulls open a drawer and starts digging through it.

I wait by the door, unsure of what I'm supposed to be doing. I start to hum under my breath, and I kick the ground. "So."

"Ah." Mikey sets a file on the desk. He touches the cover before opening it. A photograph of me is on the very first page. It sends shivers down my spine. Mikey points at it and stares at me. "This is yours." He ruffles through the papers inside. "It says here Schechter wanted you after he set eyes on me." Mikey pulls the folder into his lap and leans back in the chair, making it spin around. "He wanted you because you're _famous_ apparently." Mikey stares at me. "Are you?"

I rub the back of my neck. "I got a comic published, but I doubt that'll get me any recognition from perverts living in—where are we again?"

Mikey turns the chair around, facing the back to me. "Underground, and you really got that comic published? That's awesome." He goes through the papers again before stuffing it back into the drawer.

My eyes widen. "We're underground?"

He nods.

I bite my lip. "I—how?"

Mikey pulls out another file folder. "Um, Schechter's old house was right above here, and this was his basement, you could say." He grabs the cover of the folder and flips it open, revealing a picture of a young adult with shaggy dark hair that hid his face. "And his house caught on fire for an unknown reason, and there was too much damage, so they tore it down. They—the fire fighters, I mean—didn't even know about this place. They just brushed it aside and started to grow a bunch of trees over it. We're, like, now surrounded by a forest." Mikey nods, his eyes wide. "It's pretty cool." He lowers his head and looks at the file of the boy with the long hair.

I stare at him. "And who explained this all to you?" I start over to the desk and take a seat on top of it.

"Toro. He was the last one they let join their ranks as the bunnies." Mikey softly laughs, and I can see my little brother in him again. I want to hug him, but I decide against it.

I lower my head and tap the photo. "Who's that?"

"Iero," he says, nodding. He glances at me.

"He looks different," I comment. "Long hair. It looks brown."

Mikey shrugs. "They have to change your appearance or else people'll know it's you whenever they give you the privilege to walk around up there." He points toward the ceiling, and then runs a hand through his hair. "I had blond in my hair when they first took me. Pelissier even did something to my eyes, and now I don't need glasses anymore."

"Yeah, I've noticed that," I say softly. I pull at a strand of my red hair. "If you could walk up there"—I gesture a hand toward the ceiling—"then, why didn't you come home? We were all worried about you."

He only shrugs. "I don't want to leave." He looks through the papers in front of him. "It's kinda nice here. We're like a big family. Like, if you ever get horny, there's always someone here to satisfy you in the way you want." He smiles before sighing. "His name's Frank."

I shake my head and look down at the photograph. "What?"

"Iero. His name's actually Frank."

"Frank Iero." I slowly nod. "Mm."

*

I lie back in bed that evening, my eyes focused on the wooden beams above me. I count them.

I'm expecting Frank—no, Iero—to come in soon, but I haven't seen him since that Mike guy fixed me some noodles for dinner. I regret saying I liked his cooking before. It really sucks now. I don't know what was going through my head, then.

I tap my feet and sing along to a Disney song playing through my mind. I miss watching TV. I don't think there's cable down here because I haven't seen any TVs around, which sucks. I'm starting to think all they do down here for entertainment is fuck each other.

My ankles cross.

_"I don't quite understand something, Mikey."_

_"What's that, Gerard?"_

_"Why can't I call you guys by your first names?"_

_"Schechter says first names are more recognizable than last names when you meet someone face-to-face."_

_"And, and the masks—"_

_"That also comes along with the first name and the face deal. People remember your face. So, we hide our faces whenever we walk around here and when we go up to snatch another boy we've been hunting down."_

_"But you don't wear them besides that?"_

_"No. That's just silly."_

I rub my nose and turn over on my side, curling into a ball, closing my eyes. I start to hum to myself, wanting to drift off to sleep, but that's never going to happen soon. My lips pop open, and my humming is louder.

_"Mikey, I have another question."_

_"What is it, Gee?"_

_"Um, why don't you have any… well…?"_

_"Oh! Well, you have this… period of time, you could say, from when you get here until the moment Schechter wants to talk to you. It could be at random, so you have to be good at all times."_

_"Is that what happened to you?"_

_"Well, yeah. I, I kinda—never mind. I don't want to say. Anyway, I done it, and they tied me up to a table, and Pelissier cut them off."_

I wince to myself and start to shiver.

_"Can you get your… dick chopped off?"_

_"Uh, yeah. As gross as this sounds, um, Toro doesn't have anything down there. Pelissier doesn't either."_

_"What did they do? Do you know?"_

_"I'm not really sure, to be honest. But, um, Iero always tells me this… It's really dumb, but… it goes, like 'don't get too attached to the prey, Mr. Way, or else you will say goodbye to your wang-wang.' It's gross."_

_"I think that's so silly."_

I smile.

_"So, with Bryar and Iero, they're—"_

_"—still intact, yeah. They're, like, the second-in-commands, I guess. Schechter took them first, and he didn't really have the rules set up for this sort of thing yet, so they still have a full package."_

_"Why? Why does he take people?"_

_"I don't know, Gerard."_

A hand grabs onto my ankles, squeezes them, and it causes me to jump up and squeal. It's Iero. He's staring at me with a big smile on his pale face. His mask is tossed off to the side, and he's dressed in nothing but a thin pair of gray boxer shorts. "Hey there, sleepy head."

"I, I wasn't sleeping," I say quietly, rubbing my arms.

Iero furrows his brow. "You were snoring."

"I guess I breathe pretty loud."

He only shrugs as he jumps on the bed and hovers above me. "I'll be making you breathe even louder in a few minutes," he murmurs against the shell of my ear.

I shiver. "Where were you?"

"Schechter and I went out and got us another play toy."

Something inside me shrivels up and dies. It sickens me to know that they refer to their victims as "play toys". I turn my face away from Iero and stuff it into the nearest pillow. I get choked on the smell of Axe.

"Hey, baby, turn around." His hands are on my sides, and he presses his fingers in, almost like a massage.

Despite his pleading tone, I don't move. I'm still disgusted by his earlier speech. I bet he was even called a "play toy" by Schechter when he was first taken. I mean, I would call him that because of the long hair he had, and how you could pull on it while you were riding him, and how you can practically breathe into it and cover your face while you're climaxing.

Shit.

I raise my head and study Iero's face.

He scans mine back.

We jump at each other and tear off each other's remaining clothes, and not even in five minutes' time have passed before I'm straddling his hips, my hands covering my face, while I bounce up and down on his groin with his member nestled deep inside me with spit as the lubrication. I bite down on my fingers as I feel sweat start to break on my brow, on my back. Iero's hands start to slide off from their position on my hips. "Bite on your fingers more," he says softly, and I do. I start grinding my teeth into the flesh, and I hear the skin break open, and blood starts to pour out. It drips onto Iero's chest, the bed sheets, but that doesn't stop him. He actually gets a better grip on me and helps me slide up and down. He moans quietly, and I join him, but my noises are much, much, _much_ louder than his. I can't help it.

He manages to sit up a bit, and I'm settled into his lap, my legs still spread and on each side of him. He wraps his arms around my middle, presses our chests together. "Gerard, Gerard," he mumbles under his breath, and his mouth attacks my neck. He licks at it, bites at it, kisses it.

I grab onto his shoulders and bite my lip and lean forward suddenly, knocking us both over onto the bed, onto our sides. I bury my face in his short hair and moan and rotate my hips and scream his name and come everywhere. He follows after I get down from my high, and I press my face into his chest, sniffing, kissing his sternum. I giggle a bit and expect him to kiss me back, like, on my ears or something, but he doesn't do anything.

Silence strikes this heated room, and I'm a bit scared to even move, breathe, even. But I gather up the courage to raise up my head and stare at Iero. "Was I, was I bad?"

He stares at me with narrowed eyes. "You called me 'Frank'."

My eyes widen, and I don't have time to react before I'm rolled off the bed and pinned to the floor. My stomach is against the stone, and I'm getting goose bumps everywhere. "I, I'm sorry, Iero. It was, it was in the heat of the moment."

He sits on my hips, his hands going to keep both my arms down, so I couldn't move around. His mouth presses against my temple. "Do you have any idea how much I want to hit you right now?"

I whimper, and he presses my cheek against the floor. He leans over, and our eyes connect.

"No one calls me that. _No one_. Got it?"

I attempt to nod, and he gets off me, stands up, and heads into the small bathroom to the side.

I watch him from the floor, too scared to even move in fear of what he might do. And before I can even comprehend what's going through my mind, tears start to drip from my eyes, and I cry.

Iero is out of the bathroom in a flash, and he collects me in his arms, setting me in his lap, holding me close to his chest. He rubs my arms, leans his head against mine. "Calm down. I, I—don't cry." He hugs me, and I continue to sob. "Please," he murmurs, and he looks down at me with wide eyes. "For me?"

I lower my gaze and try to brush away the remains of my own semen from my stomach.

He sighs a bit and starts to rub my back in soothing circles. "It's going to be all right," he says. He looks down at me. "Do you want me to sing to you? I heard that always calms people down." Before I can voice my opinion, he wraps his arms around me and begins to sing under his breath.

"Hush, little baby, don't say a word. I know you're frightened because of the blood on the floor. But please, don't hate me, kick me, or yell; I already know I'm going to Hell. So, just wait for me—I'm joining you soon. Will you let me steal the moon? I know you always liked it, so I'm giving it to you because I don't want you to hate me while your face is turning blue. Don't mind me, I'm just hanging around. I wanna be the first to see you in the ground. I told you, my child, to not say a word because now your blood is stained on the floor…"


	8. This Pin, I Shall Pull

I'm awakened the next morning to the sound of a death-defying scream. I raise up in bed and take a quick glance around, wondering where the sound came from, but my thought doesn't go far. Iero, sitting beside me, jumps onto me and presses me against the bed, our chests and thighs slapping against each other. I stare at him with wide eyes as another scream overtakes my eardrums. "Who's that?" I ask quietly.

Iero blinks. "What're you talking about?"

Another scream. I frown.

Iero sighs and rolls off me, going over to stand in front of the bedroom door, putting his back against it. "You can't go out."

I stare at him for a few seconds, and then slowly lay my head down. "I wasn't planning to." I close my eyes, and he believes me. He gets back into bed with me, settling in close to my back, practically spooning me. His hand is lying on my side, and his fingers rub up and down my skin as he sings underneath his breath. I can't place the song.

My plan was to slip out of Iero's arms after I was sure he was asleep, and then go and check if everything was all right, but it's now ruined because the scream vibrates the underground home again, and Iero jumps up from the bed, snaps on his mask, and runs out. He doesn't even bother to close the door behind him nor remind me not to follow.

So, I take this as the perfect opportunity to investigate.

I slide out of bed, the soft covers rubbing against my rough flesh as I get onto the floor and pull on the clothes I had on the previous night. I raise up carefully and start to the source of the continuous screams.

The cries of agony get worse as I turn down hallways I've never walked before, as I look through doorways I've never noticed before.

It starts to hurt me, so I have to cup my hands over my ears and apply a lot of pressure to drown it out. I run down the hallway, realizing that it would've been a dead end if not for the room to the right of it.

I skid to a stop and look around. My ears are still ringing. My nose twitches from the smell of mulch and blood. I peek in the room.

A dark-haired, naked boy is lying on a metal table—much like the one I was on when I first got snatched—on his stomach. His hands and feet are strapped to the legs of the table, and his legs are stretched at an impossibly wide angle. It looks like they're broken, and they probably are. I can see little things of white and red poke out from the skin around the place his thigh and hip meet.

My hands go to my mouth and stomach.

The boy is shaking and screaming as he gets raped by a man in a clown mask.

Iero, Mikey, Toro, and even Bryar are standing around the table, completely naked, masks on. They're trembling from excitement as they take the boy from all sides. The one in the clown mask continues to thrust into him quickly and with enough force that he gets pushed across the table, forcing the ropes binding him to the piece of furniture to stretch and cut into his wrists and ankles. Toro stands by his side and lowers one of his hands to the boy's belly, probably to tease his dick. Bryar and Mikey go down to lick his toes, his fingers, and even his underarms, and Iero gets onto the table with him, grabbing his neck and bringing his face down to deep-throat his length.

The boy squirms on the table and yells and chokes and eventually just relaxes and lets it happen.

He starts to softly weep.

And it's making me sick.

*

I lie in bed after running away from there. I couldn't take it.

Iero has come in a few minutes ago. He said he needed a shower. I didn't question him. I think he knows I watched, but he doesn't seem to mind. He's probably proud of himself.

I run my fingers up and down his pillowcase, feeling the stitching on it. "Hey, um, Iero," I call, almost slipping out his first name. "May I ask you a question?"

"Sure." He walks out of the shower wearing a pair of pajama bottoms and running a towel through his short hair. "What is it?"

I look at the wall ahead of me. I blink. "Who was that guy? Is he your new play toy?"

It doesn't take a while for him to respond. "Yeah, he is. Why?"

"Just wondering… What's his name?"

"Jarrod… Alexander, I think."

I furrow my brow. Iero notices my facial expression change. "What is it?" He goes over and lightly touches my cheekbone. He kisses it softly.

I look over his shoulder and stare at the wooden wall. "That name sounds familiar."

*

The next night, I am awakened by a scream. I jump up from the empty bed with high energy, considering I just stayed in bed all day with Iero feeding me all my meals.

I hear the scream again, but it's different than Jarrod's from yesterday. It sounds deeper.

I pull on a pair of socks before going to check out everything.

Once again, I'm led to the room I encountered yesterday, but this time, I'm not met with Jarrod getting violated by five other guys. I'm face-to-face with Mike—naked also—tied to a table, but it's a wooden one this time, and it's upright, so it appears that he could be standing if not for the ropes keeping his arms and legs securely to the edges of the wooden board.

I don't understand what's going on.

A hand touches my arm.

I jump.

It's Iero, wearing his rabbit mask. He pulls me into the room and holds me close to his chest. "They're getting rid of him," he says with laughter in his tone.

My eyes widen. "What?"

"Watch!" Iero grabs my shoulders and turns me to look ahead at the scene unfolding before me.

The guy in the clown mask is back, and so is Pelissier, but they're both fully clothed—thank God. The man in the clown mask is inspecting Mike. He puts a hand on the table and spins it around slowly.

My eyes nearly pop out my skin.

There's a hole in the table, right where his groin would be resting, and his cock is in it. It resembles a glory hole, but this can be nothing of that sort.

The clown goes and studies Mike with careful blue eyes. He nods to Pelissier, and Iero gets closer to me, putting a hand over my mouth, pulling me in. "This is the best part."

Pelissier gets down on his knees, making himself eye level with Mike's length. He slowly slides up a surgical mask he had around his neck before taking out a scalpel from his front breast pocket. He waves it around a bit, letting it reflect off the light before putting it to the base of Mike's length and making a sharp downward motion.

I instantly jump and squeal and bite down on Iero's fingers as I watch Mike's penis and testicles fall right off and lay in a puddle of red blood. I grow sick, and things only get worse when the clown turns to me and beckons with two fingers. Iero pushes me eagerly, and when I get close enough, the clown grabs my arm and starts pulling me over to Mike and Pelissier.

He pushes me to the ground. My lips tremble, and I try my best not to make eye contact with anything. Pelissier nudges my shoulder before handing me a surgical mask and a lighter. Mike's screams pierce my ears. I stare at the two items. "What do you—?"

Pelissier shushes me by putting a finger to my lips. He shakes his head and shoves the two items to me again.

I take them.

The clown watches with crossed arms. Iero bounces in the background, completely thrilled.

I glance around. I snap on the surgical mask, feeling the band sting as it hits the back of my head.

I look at the puddle of blood on the floor, at the detached sex organs.

I raise my head and gaze at the huge wound, no doubt getting infected as we speak.

I flip the lighter, the flame shooting out. Mike whimpers from above. His fingers curl around the wood. "Please, no, _no_."

The clown steps toward Mike from behind. I see something glisten behind his back. I raise an eyebrow.

I flick the lighter again.

The clown grins from behind the mask.

I put the flame next to the open wound.

The clown stabs Mike in the back with a knife.

*

I imagine sad music playing as I wallow around in the bed the following day. I shiver occasionally, even with all the blankets wrapped around me. I keep my gaze on the ceiling, not daring to blink.

"You had a bad day," I sing to myself.

"You're taking one down," Iero murmurs beside me, on the mattress of the bed, since I took all the coverings to wrap myself in. He didn't object. He seemed to think I needed some comfort after what I went through the night before.

"You sing a sad song just to turn it around," I reply softly.

"You say you don't know."

"You tell me don't lie."

"You work at a smile, and you go for a ride."

"You had a bad day," I say, smiling a bit.

"The camera don't lie."

"You're coming back down, and you really don't mind."

"You had a bad day."

"You had a bad day."

Iero props himself up on his elbows and softly lays a kiss on my mouth. I give him one back.

"Hey," he says after our lips disconnect.

"Hm." I pull him into the engulfing warmth of all the bed clothes.

"I think I'm in love with you."

My heart skips a beat. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"A very bad thing," Iero replies.

"Oh."

He sets his head down on my chest. He looks ahead. I play with his hair.

"Gerard?"

"Hm."

"Call me Frank from now on."


	9. Stalling

The next few weeks passed by in a blur, and looking back on them makes my head hurt. I'd taken refuge to Frank's bedroom earlier that day—I think it's a Tuesday, not sure—telling myself I would stay in here for only a few moments, just to lay my head down, but I've been in here all day, and I don't plan on leaving.

The day after Mike had been… relieved of his "manhood", and then brutally murdered, Frank had tried to drag me along to help dispose of the body. Of course, I agreed because Frank and I were going to be alone, but as soon as I had pulled on warmer clothes and a hat, the man in the clown mask appeared, and I was chilled to the bone.

They made me put on a bunny mask and a blindfold as they led me up to the world. I could still smell earth and dirt around me, so I knew that the interior of the staircase we were heading up was still decorated with the mulch. I wanted to touch it, but I kept my hands to myself.

Well, not exactly. Frank had a hold of my fingers, rubbing his thumb into the skin on the backs of them softly, applying a little bit of pressure, and I did my best to return the action, but it was hard, considering that the clown that was walking ahead of us with a body bag over his shoulder kept glancing back every other second.

But throughout the whole mission, you could say, Frank stayed in perfect contact with me, and I didn't know how to feel about that.

Sure, every time I looked at his face—whether it was covered by a mask or not—I got butterflies in my stomach, and my heart raced in my chest, but those feelings are _normal_ , and I don't know if they really mean anything. Maybe I was getting Stockholm syndrome, and it was all just fake affection, but when I lay in bed the last couple days and really thought about it, I got sick, and I had to keep a firm hold on my mouth or I just might have exploded and cried from the pain I was experiencing from just _thinking_ if my feelings toward the sadomasochist were fake.

So, I've grown to accept the fact I was falling for one of the men that had kidnapped me.

But Mikey's words, buried deep within my subconscious, reminded me of what Frank used to say to him.

_"Don't get too attached to the prey, Mr. Way, or else you will say goodbye to your wang-wang."_

I wondered if that same fate was for Frank or if Schechter would just turn the other cheek since Frank was considered one of his second-in-commands.

It makes me sick to my stomach. I roll over and hide my face in a pillow, smelling blood.

Frank had been growing a bit more… violent ever since Mike had died and ever since they had gotten that new play toy of theirs: Jarrod Alexander.

The name still strikes a chord of déjà vu to me. It makes my head hurt. I press the heel of my hand to my forehead.

I don't quite know why Frank had started to grow more hostile, but almost every night, starting from the weekend following Mike's death, he would climb into bed with me at odd hours of the night and demanded that we had sex. Of course, I was still groggy from sleep, and sex was the farthest thing in my mind, so I just grunted a "no" before turning over and getting comfortable. I thought he would brush it off, lie on his back, and jack himself off, and I would slowly drift back asleep to the sound of his breathing getting heavier and heavier, his hand quickening around his member, and maybe even a few moans slipping out as his other hand carelessly swept in between his legs and started to tease himself to the image of me finger-fucking him.

But no, I didn't get that.

I, instead, get grabbed by the shoulders, lifted in the air, thrown onto the ground, and knocked out. When I awoke, my head was carefully resting on a pillow, my chest pressed to the sheets, my ass straight up in the air, and Frank slowly fucking me from behind. His forehead was leaning onto my back, kissing it, murmuring words of forgiveness and how much he loved me.

I love you, too, Frank, baby.

Just yesterday, he made me wear his bunny mask as I rode him in the reverse cowboy position. His hands were glued to my hips, his nails digging in and bruising the skin an ugly blue color. He made me keep my hands to my face as I held the mask in place, feeling the plastic become like drying plaster. The mask helped me contain some of my squeals, but Frank loved sounds, no matter if they were coming from me or him. He just wanted the whole fucking world to know that he was making me feel so Goddamn _good_.

So, eventually, the mask was tossed to the side, and I was screaming my fucking lungs off as he held onto me tightly, continuing to thrust into me deeply as he turned my vision white from the pressure he was supplying my prostate.

I didn't know how I felt about the mask. It made it hard to breathe, and the plastic smelled when it got sweat attached to it, and it still scared the shit out of me. I never wanted to touch one or even wear one for the rest of my existence, but I fear that that won't be for very much longer.

Let's just say something… _happened_ , and Schechter found out, and he probably isn't very happy right now.

Frank has continued to remind me. He's lying in bed next to me, which is strange; it's only around eight o'clock according to what Frank had told me before jumping on the bed, landing beside me.

"Schechter's probably thinking about… y'know," he says, looking over at me with a raised eyebrow.

"I know," I breathe out, turning to look over at the wall. It's odd how only the rooms are lined with painted walls, while the hallways just have dirt.

"Why wouldn't you?" he asks.

I shrug. "I dunno. I just… couldn't." I look over at him. "Y'know?"

He nods. "I know."

Schechter—the leader of this place, the one that I had just recently found out was behind the clown mask—marched into Frank's bedroom a few hours prior. Frank and I were sharing an intimate moment, and I hope Schechter didn't notice how much feeling we were putting behind each of our actions. Well, we were under the covers, just kissing, and Frank was cupping my hips, rolling his thumbs into the blemishes he had caused to appear, and we were slowly grinding and kissing, and everything was just so fucking sensually that Schechter must've _known_ that we weren't just fucking—we were showing our Goddamn love for each other, and it still makes my heart race just thinking that Frank could have his private parts sliced off, and I would probably be killed, I don't know.

And just then, I start to regret what I had done.

Schechter had ordered me to go into Jarrod's bedroom and rape him. And I don't know what overcame me. I couldn't do it; I didn't want to, but I still dragged myself to that spare bedroom, got down on that mattress with him, and started ripping off the scrubs top and too-tight shorts they had given him.

He screamed—no surprise there, but I continued with my deed…

Well, continued until I heard him cry.

I was in the middle of rolling his shorts off his freshly shaved legs when I heard the first sobs overtake him, and I lowered my head to watch him for a few seconds, that familiar déjà vu feeling creeping back up.

I studied Jarrod, watching his lips tremble from trying to control his sobs, his thighs shake from trying to be relaxed, knowing it'll only hurt more if he refused, and finally, his eyes. They were wide and staring at me, almost in a pleading notion, wanting me to get the hint that we shouldn't have sex, that I shouldn't rape him.

"I'm not going to rape you, Jarrod," I said calmly, and hearing those words reassured him greatly. His whole body language changed drastically. One moment, he was tense and shivering and greatly terrified, but now, he was cool, controlled, and much less red in the face.

He looked at me with those sad brown eyes, and then softly asked, "Then, what are you going to do to me?"

So, I started giving him a blowjob with my fuckable mouth.

And he screamed and screamed and screamed, and when I walked out of his bedroom, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, Schechter was standing in the hallway, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed behind the blue outlined eye holes of the clown mask. "What the hell was that?"

I knew he figured out I didn't rape him.

I knew I was caught.

But instead of beating me and smacking me and killing me, he patted my shoulder, rubbing the back of my head. "Oh, Gerard," he sang under his breath, _tsk_ ing, and shaking his head. "Come to my office later tonight. Have Iero guide you there." He stroked the back of my neck before walking down the length of the hallway, his hips lightly swaying as he continued to sing under his breath.

I knew I was screwed, and I told Frank this, and he didn't give me that much support either.

I wondered if Mikey would, but his words of _"Well, you have this… period of time, you could say, from when you get here until the moment Schechter wants to talk to you. It could be at random, so you have to be good at all times"_ nailed its way back into my brain, and I knew, I just _knew_ that later tonight would be the moment that would settle everything, and I was scared out of my mind. I had screwed everything up, and Frank knew that, and practically everyone knew that. I could hear them talking about it from Frank's bedroom, and they weren't being discreet about it either.

"I heard Gerard was going to get his balls chopped off tonight!"

"Oh, man, that'd be a sight to see."

"No, no, I heard Schechter was going to rape him and make him eat his own vomit."

"I hope he videotapes it."

"You know he will!"

And that's when I had retreated back to Frank's room. I didn't want to be around the idiotic chatter. Everything was going to be fine. It just had to be. I had a girlfriend back upstairs, you could say, and she was probably worried sick about me. I had to get back there for her. I had to see my parents. They're worried, too. I know they are. Everybody should be worried about me! I fucking disappeared! That's a story to scare people shitless!

"Everything's going to be fine," I say stubbornly, my gaze locked with the ceiling and my thoughts. I start to say it again, but Frank covers my mouth with his hand, silencing me.

"I know."

I look over at him.

He smiles.

We inch closer to each other, sealing the space between our bodies and our mouths. We desperately claw at each other's clothes, wanting to be as close as possible. We get under the covers once we're undressed. I love the feeling of Frank's blankets against my back, so I move on top. His short legs slowly raise up off the bed to hook around my hips, his heels digging into my tailbone softly.

Our lips move against the other's, and our hips slowly start to rotate and move and grind. We squeal and dig nails into shoulders, not breaking our mouth-to-mouth and genital-to-genital contact for any reason. Even though our bodies ache to move onward from the silly foreplay, we don't give in. It's more intimate this way—only relying on the way your partner and you move your bodies together to meet together at _just the right moment_.

We gasp, lips separating to let the flood of "fucks" and "oh oh ohs" and "shits" cascade out in a jumble of letters and confused sounds. We spill our climax on each other's chests, and instead of cleaning it up right away, we lie in it, pressed against each other, letting our chests have zero friction as we slide together to get to the other's mouths.

Our tongues reach our lips before we do, and it's sweet and filled with all kinds of stuff that makes my heart pound in my chest. I'm so scared. I don't want this to end.

I hold onto Frank, pulling him in close, letting my breaths get heavier as I try to consume more of him in my mouth.

I don't want to die nor get my balls chopped off. All I want to do is stay here with Frank in this bed and kiss and make love all the time without any worry about having to shower or having to eat or having to sleep or having to worry about dying at the hands of a crazed man who likes wearing a clown mask.

I shouldn't be talking. I'm in bed with a man who enjoys wearing a bunny mask.

Frank and I are forced apart after a few more minutes of rough kissing, and when we cease, I can tell my lips are going to be bruised later. They're all wet and red and puffy and tender to the touch. It sucks, but I don't mind. I lay my head back on Frank's pillow, and his arm goes around to snake around my neck, raising up to knot his fingers in the red locks.

"I love you."

"I love you."

We kiss.

"Don't leave me," Frank pleads into my ear. "Don't go to Schechter. Stay here. With me." Our lips meet again.

I press a hand to his chest, curl my fingers in. "Okay," I promise.


	10. The Brain Melts into a Lovely Explosion

The disc on his desk hid enough evidence to lock him behind bars for many, many years.

The disc held, at least, six rapes, and other torturous schemes that were sure to make his parents and relatives neglect to invite him to the next family reunion.

But no matter the content on the disc, he was still _proud_ of it, proud of his work, proud of everything he had accomplished.

Schechter, silent as a mouse, picks up the object and slides it in the laptop he had set up for this special occasion. He props his feet on each side of the laptop and undoes his jeans, deciding on watching the rape scenes today. He needs to get into the mood.

The first rape on the disc is Bob Bryar's. The blond's tied to his desk with string that came out of a hoodie. Schechter remembers how he had superglued the string to Bryar's limbs. He hums and sticks his hand down his pants.

The second is Frank Iero's. He's hanging from his hands by a rope coming down from the ceiling. His legs are spread more than they should be allowed. Any more, and they would have broken.

The third belongs to Matt Pelissier. He's draped over Schechter's chair, having the ability to freely move his arms and legs. In hindsight, Schechter should've known that would've ended badly.

The fourth is Ray Toro's. His face is stuck to the ground as Schechter gets him from behind, his fingers twisted into the brunet locks that would have soon be ripped out because of a poor attempt at escaping.

The fifth rape victim is Mikey Way. The position is missionary, and Schechter grows almost violent when he watches the scene play out. He has to stop masturbating or else he might blow up and tug his dick off. The bleached-blond-haired _faggot_ is struggling to fight, to get away. Why couldn't he have been like the others and stayed there and took it like the pussies they were? Why did he have to fight? Schechter growls, fingers curling around his member, digging his nails into the erectile tissue. "Why?" he says under his breath, eyes narrowed at the screen. He watches it intently, knowing far too well what'll happen next.

_Slap. Swipe. Slash._

Mikey Way had stabbed Brian Schechter in the collarbone with a knife he had kept hidden in his desk.

He can almost feel the pain in the core of his skin, and he subconsciously raises his hand to rub at the spot, feeling a dent where the bone never did heal properly. He runs his thumb over the imperfection before sticking his hand back down his pants and watching the rest of the DVD, content with how the ruling played out.

Way had lost his balls.

Schechter laughs out loud.

The last rape on the disc is Jarrod Alexander. "Ah," Schechter murmurs under his breath, as he starts moving his hand again. "He was a good one."

The small boy is squirming all over his desk, moaning and whining at all the right moments. Schechter could tell he enjoyed it by the sounds he let slip, and he even came. No one had climaxed during their little rape sessions ever, except for Jarrod, and that's why Schechter liked him so much.

The next rape would've been Michael Pedicone, but Schechter had heard that he honestly sucked at doing everything, so he didn't even bother to try and fool around with him. He knew he wasn't going to live that long when he first set eyes on him after Iero shoved him into his office.

Besides, he had a special someone to hold the spot for rape number seven.

Schechter shakes his head and quickly grabs a file folder from a drawer to his left, his right hand preoccupied at the moment. He throws it on the desk and flips it open, letting a beautifully drawn crest with the words _Ut Melum Pluvia_ woven at the bottom be shown, and that's just enough to send him over the edge. He relaxes and leans his head against the back of his chair, eyes closed.

He smirks and sits up after managing to regain his strength after a few moments. He gets up, fixes his attire, pulls on his clown mask, and heads out of his office, hoping to get his hands on the artist who had drawn that very crest he had orgasmed to.

*

We're about to make love again when there's a knock on Frank's bedroom door. We instantly freeze, and Frank dares to ask a soft "who's there?"

The response is another knock, but this one is more urgent, more… scarier. We pull apart and quickly dress. Frank goes to answer the door. I see his complexion grow white. "Oh, hey."

It's Schechter.

His mask makes me want to fall to the ground and hide behind my parents' legs.

Schechter nods at Frank, and his blue eyes slowly fall onto me. "Is he ready?" I hear him sniff. "He smells ready."

I start panicking. How does he know? I bite my lip. This room probably stenches of sex and sweat. We were just setting up a path to our own death.

Frank glances at me before shrugging. "I guess. I was just preparing him—"

"—I can tell," Schechter intercepts, shoving Frank to the floor, causing me to stand stick-straight in fear. The masked man turns to me and holds out his hand for me to take. "C'mon, Gerard. We don't want to waste time."

I don't move.

Schechter comes after me. He picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. "You don't fucking ignore me," he growls, smacking my ass.

I whimper and look over at Frank, who's still on the ground. "What do I do?" I ask, meaning for it to come out as a whisper, but my vocal chords betray me.

Frank's eyes widen, the danger of me getting severely hurt kicking in. "Play along!" he says, sitting up. "Like it! Like it! Moan, act like you're into—"

Schechter closes the door behind him. "God, he's annoying. I can't believe he's still alive. Well, he won't be after I'm done with you." He smacks my ass again, and I cry out.

"Don't make a sound until we get there." He swings me around, like an adult would do to their child, only more violently. My head comes in contact with the door, and I black out.

*

When I wake up, I'm lying on the floor of Schechter's office in the fetal position. I think the raping has already taken place, but my outfit tells me the fun is only about to begin.

I'm in a lacy, black lingerie set, complete with garter belt, stockings, skirt, and a chest with size _B_ breasts. I touch them. They feel real, and I grow worried. I want to pull them off to see if they're implants, but a voice beside me shakes my hands away.

"Stop. They've just been attached."

It's Schechter. He's sitting beside me, unmasked, eyes wide.

I stare at him, blink. He's attractive—strange. That's not how I would picture someone who would want to kidnap and torture young men.

"Uh, h-how?" I lower my head and touch one again.

He doesn't tell me; he only kisses me softly on the mouth, pushing me to the ground. He jumps back a bit, touching the back of my head. "Don't want to ruin your hair," he murmurs, lifting me off the ground, so I'm in a sitting position. He grins. "Don't you like your hair, sweetie?" he asks, grabbing my wrist and raising it, so I'd be able to check out what he had done with it.

The short red locks are now curled, which I didn't think was even possible, but Schechter has managed to surprise me yet again. I lower my hands, taking a quick glance at my nails. They're perfectly manicured, the tips painted black to match my outfit. I bite my lip and grow worried. What's about to unfold?

Schechter kisses my mouth once more before picking me up, standing up, and setting me on his desk. His hands start to roam across my now unfamiliar body, and he continues to kiss my lips, his teeth lightly grazing across the flesh, his tongue poking into mine.

This isn't rape. This is… pleasant.

We pull apart, and the thought _this isn't rape_ is dumped from my brain as Schechter grabs me by the hair and throws me against the desk, turning me around, so my ass is up in the air, legs spread, face squashed. It's hard to breathe, but I stay perfectly still.

I hear a _click_ , and a red light to the left of me flashes on. I open my eyes a fraction of an inch more.

I'm being recorded.

Schechter's hands are on my thighs, and he's pushing my thighs apart even more, and I dare to let out a cry, which, in return, makes him laugh.

"You don't like this, do you, darling?" he questions, his hand going up to squeeze one of my cheeks. "You never liked anything to do with ass sex." He spanks me. I yelp. "Well, you will soon, sweetheart."

I close my eyes. I don't think he's imagining me.

I don't have time to ask him because his hands make their way to pull down my panties and garter belt. He pushes the skirt up to my waist, then, and I realize that he has my scrotum and penis wrapped up nice and tight with some medical bandages.

I panic, and he swiftly presses his tongue against my asshole.

I automatically moan, and this doesn't please him.

"You hate this!" he yells, slapping my thigh before diving in again.

I now realize that Frank's advice would not be coming in handy tonight.

Schechter leaves me whining on the desk after a really long and exaggerated rimjob. It leaves my knees shaking, and my body aching for more.

The leader of the sadomasochist group walks back over to me, pushing me down on the desk, pulling me out, so the front of my thighs and knees are intact with the front of his desk. He spreads my legs again and pushes in fully with a grunt of "I'll make you like this, bitch."

He continues to thrust into me, his hips digging into my ass, his hands by each side of my head, gripping the wood desk tightly. He starts muttering things under his breath, and I grow scared because the words that slip out are violent, like "I'm going to kill you" and "I'm going to make you masturbate with a cheese grater". It makes me shiver and shake, and he just laughs and smashes my head against the desk some more.

This goes on for several minutes, and it's starting to really hurt. I think my thighs are going to grow raw, and one of my breasts have fallen off, and it had rolled off the desk a few minutes ago, and I'm just really scared right now, but it ends just a few seconds later when he climaxes and pulls out of me. I slide off the desk without the support of his body, and I hit my head against the concrete floor. I think it's bleeding, but no one will notice because of my hair. I open my eyes and look up at Schechter, and I see that he's _crying_.

Schechter doesn't cry.

He isn't allowed to cry.

"What's wrong?" I ask softly, and he loses it. He collapses onto the ground, head in his hands, crying and yowling and sounding like he's about to die. I sit up and hug him the best I can, considering my chest isn't proportional at the moment, and I don't really want to touch the man who had just violated me, but hey, everybody needs comfort when they're crying.

I rub his shoulders. "Schechter?"

He coughs in my face, spit flying onto my lip. His eyes are red. "My name's Brian."

Brian. I tilt my head. "What's wrong, Brian? Why're you crying?"

"Why don't you love me?" he asks quietly, sitting up straighter, wiping away the tears that are creeping from his eyes with a rough hand. "I gave everything to you!" he starts, getting up from the ground. "I gave you a home! I gave you a wonderful little girl! I gave you everything, and you repay me by not even giving a quarter of a damn to get involved with my interests! I hate you! I hate you!" He reaches out and threads his fingers through my hair, gripping hard. I wince, and he pulls, ripping out strands of the sweaty cherry-blossom strands. I yell, and he presses his hand to my mouth, using his other hand to pinch my nostrils closed. "And that's why I burned down our house, baby. I wanted you and that dreadful bastard child of ours to die. Die, die, _die_."

The last thing I see before I black out is his smile.

*

Whenever I wake up naked on a surface I'm unfamiliar with, I get worried.

This is no exception.

I'm on a bed, though, so this can't be as bad when I was strapped to a metal table several weeks ago.

Plus, Frank's beside me, and so is Pelissier, and that makes my worry meter go down drastically. I lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes. "What happened?" I ask, knowing all too well what had occurred.

Frank touches my hand. "Schechter—"

"—Brian," I murmur.

Frank squeezes my hand tighter. "Yeah, Brian. He dressed you up like his dead girlfriend and raped you."

Dead girlfriend. I frown and stay silent.

"Are you feeling okay, Ger—"

"—why am I here? Is everything okay? Did I pass his little inspection?" I softly ask, sitting up, studying my body, admiring the bruises. My eyes widen when I see my groin, at the tiny Sharpie marks around the base of my penis and various areas of my scrotum. I grow sick. "Frank? What's going on?"

Frank frowns. "He said you were fucking brilliant, but he still wants you to go through castration and a penectomy." Frank turns his head to Pelissier. He's twirling a marker in between his fingers, most likely the one that was used for the drawings on my body. "He's preparing you for it. He wants to do it right this time. It didn't matter with Mike because he was going to die either way, but Schechter—Brian—wants to keep you by his side."

I freeze. "Why me? I don't understand."

Frank joins me on the bed, grabbing both my hands now. "He's had an obsession with finding you, Gerard, ever since he got a hold of your brother. He did research and found out you wrote this comic book or something, and it completely absorbed his whole world. He even started to build a basement to his house, so it'll act as a shrine to your book. _This very place was your shrine_." Frank cups my face in his hands. "No one likes to talk about this because if he hears, he'll fucking lose it, but you have to hear it, Gerard. You wrote the comic." Frank starts to stroke my hair as he continues to explain.

"His girlfriend never liked what he was doing. He was always putting off stuff and doing everything he could to meet you, and eventually, _that_ started to consume his life. He told Bryar and me when he first took us that he actually met you, and it was the most wonderful experience in the world for him. Do you remember meeting him?"

I stare at Frank, trying to rank through my memory, trying to remember any trace of Brian, but I come up short, and I feel terrible when I shake my head.

Frank holds me closer, kissing my mouth. "Well, when he got home," he starts, "his girlfriend and he got into a major fight, and he blew up and caught the house on fire. He was able to escape and steer the police's suspicion away from him, and eventually, he managed to come back and stay in his basement and shift into his little world again with no interruptions."

Pelissier has left the room by now, already having heard this story about his leader far too many times.

Frank goes back to rub my hands. "But he started to grow lonely without the comfort of his girlfriend and his daughter, so he kidnapped people, knowing that no one voluntarily would hang out with him in his shrine.

"Bryar and I were drunk, just coming out of the bar. Brian promised us he'd take us to a lively place with loose women and the finest liquor available. Sadly, it was his basement, and he had raped us and tied us up and wouldn't let us leave. He still kidnaps people—you already know that from experience—because he thinks they're lonely and need comfort, like he did."

I take this in. "How come Mikey doesn't know this?"

Frank shrugs and gets back in his chair. "He only told Bryar, Pelissier, and me because he knows we'll stay by his side forever. The others are… disposable."

"Why'd you tell me?"

"He wants you to stay with us forever. Probably as his wife or something."

"Is the shrine still here?" I ask wearily, glancing around the room I'm stationed in—probably another spare bedroom.

"Yes, but no one can find it."

I swallow and breathe heavily, panic mood setting in. "What, what about you? He, he, he said you wouldn't be alive after he was done with me."

Frank gives a grave nod. "I'll be dead by midnight."

Vomit spews out my parted lips and lands in my lap.


	11. Ceremony

I don't sleep that night. I spend my final moments with Frank before Bryar, Toro, and Mikey come and get us around midnight.

I keep my head down as they lead us. Frank tries to hold my hand, but I don't respond well. I feel numb. Nothing seems real anymore.

The bunnies push us into a room—the same room where I assisted in the castration of Mike before his unfortunate death. I grow sick again, but there's nothing in my stomach to throw up. I press down on it, though, trying to get my mind off what's about to happen.

Brian and Pelissier are by the table, dressed in white, Brian with his clown mask on and Pelissier with his surgical one. He's twirling a scalpel. I freeze, and Bryar pushes me forward. "Go ahead," he murmurs.

I'm still frozen.

Mikey touches my back. "Go on, Gerard." He offers a smile. "It's not that bad—really."

Toro cuts in. "Yeah. It's not, like, your world's gonna end. Sure, it's hard to get used to at first because, y'know, you don't have _anything_ down there, but you'll get used to it. I swear!"

His cheerfulness isn't doing any good to me. I frown and lower my head. "Mm."

"Come on, my dear," Brian sings from the other side of the room. "We're waiting."

Mikey urges me forward, petting my bare back. They hadn't bothered dressing me, said I wouldn't need it. Frank's in clothes, though, so that bothers me.

Bryar gets impatient and pushes me forward. I almost fall. "You little bitch. Just _go_. Get it over with."

Mikey shoots him a glare while I try to balance myself. "That's easy to say when you still have what's between your legs."

Bryar begins to spit out a reply, but Mikey takes my hand and takes me over to the table. "Here," he tells the two men, and then to me, "Stay calm. Everything'll be over soon." He rubs the back of my hand with his thumb as a last source of comfort before walking off.

I start to shake and glance around for a way to escape, but Bryar and Toro are guarding the only doorway out, and Brian and Pelissier are eyeing me carefully, ready to jump out if I do anything. Plus, I fear the doctor has more surgical instruments up his sleeve. So, I do the only logical thing to do at this moment—I climb up on the table and lie down on my stomach. It stops hurting.

I repeat Mikey's words over and over in my head as Brian and Pelissier grab each of my limbs and tie me down. I feel my penis and testicles fall through the hole near the end of the table. I close my eyes. This is weird. Mike was in this situation a few weeks ago, and now, I'm here. I never expected this. I always thought I would, somehow, find a way out of this place and go back to my mom, my girlfriend.

Tears prick my vision, and I press my face against the table, a splinter cutting into my cheek. I close my eyes when I hear movement around the room. The table I'm lying on is slowly tilted upwards, so I'm at a forty-five degree angle. I try not to whimper as gloved hands grip my length, giving it several slow pumps. Someone's thumb—probably Pelissier's—runs over the tip of it, and I bite my lip.

A person drops on their knees, and a gun is loaded.

My eyes shoot open.

Brian is standing before Frank, holding the barrel of the gun against his forehead. He's kneeling in front of the leader, mask tossed to the side, eyes wide, a wad of socks in his mouth acting as a gag. His hands are tied behind his back—with what, I don't know. I can see him shaking, and I want to scream and cry out, but—wait, I can.

"Frank!" I attempt to yell, but the sound of a gun firing off drowns out my voice.

Frank's head flies back from the rebound of the bullet, and blood and brain matter fall out and land on all of us, like a type of sick shower.

Most people think dead people look like they're just sleeping.

This is not the case at all.

His eyes are big and staring ahead, like he just got frightened out of his wits. His mouth is still tightly wrapped around the bundle of socks stuffed inside, and his body structure is nothing of the sort that a sleeping individual would have. His hands and arms are twisted behind him in such an uncomfortable position that would make anyone squeal. His fingers appear broken as they lay against the concrete floor. His legs are stick-straight, much different from the kneeling posture he held before. And his head—oh, his head—is resting against one of his shoulders and the floor. His neck is bent awkwardly to one side, like it's been snapped.

A bullet hole sits in the middle of his forehead, fresh blood and old blood coming out of it with no thought of stopping for a while. The blood goes down and wraps around his eyes, his nose, barely hitting his mouth before landing to drip a puddle onto the floor.

The noise drives me insane.

_Drip, drip, drip… drip… drip, drip, drip._

I convulse against the table and throw myself in every direction, letting loose a cry that sounds almost inhumane. Splinters from the table scratch and burn and tear apart my cheek, but that's the farthest thing in my mind at the moment.

Bryar, Toro, and Mikey run over to climb on top of me, holding me down, so I'll lie still. Brian stays still next to Frank, watching the remaining life pour out of him. Pelissier, meanwhile, stays below me, and sets to work.

There's a cut, a snap, a pull, a rip, and various, various screams. I'm crying when he's stitching me up, practically begging for them to release me. Release me to where, I don't know.

And strangely, Brian does in a way I never thought he would.

He had slowly turned toward me, glancing at Pelissier, telling him to stop. When he did, Brian's eyes rested on my red, burning ones, and he had frowned as he slowly took off his mask, lying it on the floor. His facial expression wasn't one I was familiar with because this one was more… depressed, more sympathetic instead of the sadomasochist one I was used to. "I'm so sorry, Gerard, baby," he murmured, walking over to me. "I wanted you as my wife, as my partner, but… you're like a horse." He waved the others off me and pressed the gun against my temple.

Mikey had started to yell, and I suspected Bryar and Toro held him back.

"You're like a horse," Brian continued. "When you get badly hurt, you have to be put down." He tilted his head and pulled the trigger.

He lets me go.


	12. Lucid

Everything is bright. My eyes hurt from my pupils dilating to catch up with my new environment.

Everything is pristine. Nothing is out of the ordinary. It's normal and welcoming.

Everything is _loud_. The volume of all the things around me pounds in my eardrums, shaking me awake, making sure I'm alive.

"Mr. Way? Mr. Way?"

Who goes there? I blink and strain my eyes, hold up a hand. Is that God? Is it my grandmother?

A yellow light shines from one eye to another, and a cold hand touches my neck, lightly pressing down on it with two fingers. "He appears to be awake, sir," says a male dressed in pink beside me. "Vitals are slow, but he's responsive." A hand slaps my thigh, and I wince. "Feeling seems to be normal."

"Good, good," another male in a white coat murmurs. He's flipping through a clipboard, writing down notes. "Any memory loss?"

I turn back and forth to the man in the white coat and the one in the pink scrubs. "Do you know who you are?" the nurse, I presume, asks me after snapping to attract my attention.

I stare at him, eyes narrowed. I can practically feel the gears moving in my brain to try and attach a name to his face. It's so familiar. I shake it away, looking off to the side. I grip the blankets over top of me, hearing my heart beat quicken from the corner of the room.

"Calm down, dear," the nurse says, sitting down beside me, grabbing my knee and rubbing it in comfort. "Take your time. We're in no hurry."

The doctor scoffs and rolls his eyes, walking to the other side of the room, tending to a patient in the bed beside mine. The person appears to be wrapped up in bandages.

The room comes into more focus. The walls are white and so are the floors. The curtains to the window by my bed are a pale blue. The window is open. Birds are chirping outside. A group of residents are talking by my door, peeking in to gaze at me with wide eyes and dropped jaws. I grow uncomfortable. Some of the residents look familiar to me. I sink back into the bed, gripping the blankets some more, swallowing hard.

The nurse wrinkles his nose. "I heard that. Do you want anything to drink?" He gets up, then, without a reply from me and walks out of the room, humming to himself, running a hand through his short brunet hair.

I want to smile, but I don't think my face muscles have caught up with the rest of my body yet. So, I turn to look ahead, counting the places on the ceiling, getting a sense of déjà vu for an unknown reason.

The brunet nurse comes back and sits down on my bed again, holding out a little juice pouch. "Here you go, doll face."

I sit up the best I can and take it. I wrap my lips around the straw and slowly drink. I look at the front of the pouch. Kool-Aid. Cherry. I drink from it some more.

The man before me stares me down, like he's waiting for something, and then I remember what, so I tell him. "My name is Gerard Way. I'm twenty-nine years old, and I _think_ I wrote a comic book, but I'm not entirely sure."

The doctor throws up his arms. "Hallelujah! Praise the Lord! He remembers." He walks out of the room, scribbling on the clipboard he's holding. He turns around and winks at me, probably overjoyed that I managed to tell him something after I woke up from… whatever I was in. But something also strikes me—those brown eyes. Jarrod.

I frown.

"You did write a comic book."

I turn my head, straw from the juice pouch still in my mouth. I make eye contact with the boy in the bandages. He's smiling. "I should know. I love them. I went to one of your meet and greet things. It was great. You hugged me." His blue eyes shine. I gulp and look back ahead as another doctor walks in.

"We'll take you over to the burn treatment center," the new arrival says, and my eyes widen. I look him over. This doctor has a mane of brown, curly hair. I start to panic. My heart races, and everybody in the room turns to face me. "Are you scared of fires?" the doctor asks. "We're just glad Brian here got out of there before any real damage was done to his system."

Brian lowers his head. "Expect for—"

"—your girlfriend and daughter, _I know_." The doctor puts his hand on Brian's shoulder and steers him out. Brian and Toro.

I almost faint from my brain processing much too fast for my well-being. I look at the nurse on my bed, chew on my straw, and instantly connect the once forgotten name to the face.

"Is your name Frank Iero?"

The brunet looks shocked, but nods.

I only manage to roll over a few feet to throw up the contents of my stomach.

*

The nurse—Frank—after several minutes of being pushed, finally spills everything that happened to me, since I couldn't recall even after a few moments of straining my memory to the point of giving me a severe headache.

So, I consistently jabbed Frank in the side with my foot until he caved, which wasn't very long.

Now, he's lying down beside me, arms behind his head, looking up at the ceiling, and I'm being extremely creepy by looking through the sleeve of his scrub top and seeing tattoos that he didn't have to hide with makeup.

"Well," Frank begins, lightly starting to absentmindedly shake his foot back and forth. "What do you remember?"

I shrug. "That's the problem. I don't."

He sighs and looks off to the side. "Well," he repeats over and over under his breath. He closes his eyes, then, and I frown. After a few seconds, he turns on his side and opens his eyes, studying me with an expression I can't place. "I'll tell you what I know, and maybe this'll help your memory come back—who knows?"

Before he begins, I reach over and grab his hand, and that's enough to give him a smile and a start to my back story. When he's done, I have a blinding headache, and Frank tells me to get some rest, but not after pushing my hair—which is long and black instead of the short red I was accustomed to—out of my face and kissing my forehead. My insides warm up, like a warm bowl of soup, and then I drift off to a peaceful slumber.

Frank had told me that I've been in the hospital for about three months. He said that when I came in, I was unresponsive, and he thought I wouldn't ever wake up, but the doctors had hope and hooked me up to a ventilator. I was in a coma brought on by overdosing on sleeping pills.

At first, the doctors and nurses that were studying me thought I was suicidal, and they had the police search through the house I shared with my girlfriend for any type of evidence that would make their assumptions true. My girlfriend's name was Lindsey, and she helped the police with the investigation. She even dug up some of my old medical records and let them know that I was going regularly to a therapist. She didn't exactly know why, though, so a couple of officers went up to the small brick building to question my therapist.

My therapist was Matt Pelissier, and he kept quiet about everything. He respected the doctor-patient confidentiality a lot, so, naturally, it took them a few hours of persuasion before he finally let them have a look at my file.

Countless upon countless papers inside the manila folder showed them everything they needed to know.

Apparently, after my brother had disappeared, I had fallen into a deep depression, and Lindsey tried so hard to get me out of it, but nothing worked because it was my little brother, y'know? You're bound to be depressed if you just found out your own flesh and blood went missing. Well, it turns out, the police had called off the search after a few weeks, and I became even more unresponsive. I had begun to have nightmares, and wetting the bed came soon after, and Lindsey didn't want to deal with me anymore, so she sent me to a therapist—Dr. Pelissier.

He diagnosed me with nightmare disorder that was brought on by post-traumatic stress disorder because of my brother's disappearance. He had me explain my nightmares, and Frank told me the police were frightened when they read the reports. I dreamed of my loved ones dying in front of me in such a painful and haunting way that made me horrified to leave my bed for long periods of time. Pelissier noted in several of these recounts that I told him that I felt safe under the blankets because the "bunnies' hands couldn't grab me while I was under them".

Pelissier had prescribed me antidepressants, and I started to get better, but it was a slow process, and Lindsey didn't like that.

She went to Pelissier multiple times and demanded for him to give me some more pills that'll instantly make me better, but like the good therapist he was, he wouldn't. He told her the path to recovery for dealing with something like this would be difficult and should be handled with a caring hand with support and strength.

Still, Lindsey did not like that.

So, one night, when I was getting ready to go to bed, she crushed sleeping pills into a glass filled with Coke. She offered it to me after I tucked myself in under the many layers of blankets I slept with that horribly smelled of piss. I didn't want it, but she shoved it in my face, so I took it and drank. I fell asleep that night and never woke up again.

"So, it was all Lindsey's fault?" I had asked Frank, and he slowly nodded and held onto me, thinking that I would collapse into sudden tears after finding out my girlfriend practically tried to kill me, but the truth was that I didn't really care because I didn't remember Lindsey, so why would I cry over someone that I didn't even recall?

I asked where Lindsey was now. Frank frowned and had replied with, "Well, she's being kept in jail. The court wanted to wait until you woke up. Since you're awake, they'll probably start the hearing when you're fully aware of the situation and everything in between," and I had given him a nod afterward.

And that's when he had pushed my hair off my face and kissed my forehead, telling me to get some rest, which I did because Frank told me I would have a big day ahead of me tomorrow.

When I wake up around nine o'clock, Frank's already on my bed, clad with his pink nurse scrubs, with a tray containing a small bowl of corn flakes with the spoon already in it. He pats my thigh after setting the tray over my lap. "Eat up," he says, squeezing my kneecap.

I nod and pick up the spoon. I pause, seeing how Frank hasn't left yet. "Are you going to watch me eat?"

Frank nods, and I nod back before eating my breakfast, a smile creeping on my face. Frank laughs at me, and I laugh with him, and everything seems perfect—Frank, the cornflakes, my slowly recovering memory, this room with the window open, so I can hear the birds sing outside. This is heaven, and Frank is my angel. I laugh to myself because that sounds cheesy, but I really feel that that's where I'm at.

Frank notices my laughing, and he giggles along with me, and then offers to feed me.

And I let him, and everything continues to be perfect.

After breakfast, Frank stays in my room and helps me with my memory. He tells me to write down everything I remember and what I had experienced when I was in the coma on a notepad. He says both of these will be shipped to Dr. Pelissier, who will look over and also help me along with the path of recovery. Well, recovering enough, so I'll be able to stand before a judge and testify against Lindsey.

With the information I have provided to Pelissier, he has concluded that I was sucked into a giant nightmare. He tells me the dreams I used to have were filled with these monsters that I called "bunnies". He shows me some of the stuff I had told him. There are pages and pages of my encounters.

_They're like a man, but… not like one at the same time._

_Their heads are made of white fur and whiskers and a pink nose with red eyes. And they look like they could be easily ripped off with a slight flick of the wrist. I think it's a mask, but I don't want to take the chance to get my hand that close to their face._

_Whenever they get mad, their jaws become unhinged, and their tongue shoots out and chokes me from the inside. Can you imagine someone else's tongue going down your throat and wrapping around your esophagus and pulling and tugging and never letting go?_

_Their master is this guy with a clown's face. I don't see him that much, though, but when he does make his appearance, I usually end up wetting the bed._

_They rape each other. They beat each other. They, they want me to join them. I don't want to join them._

I cry that night. Frank holds me and lets me know everything's going to be okay. He thinks I'm having a nightmare, but I'm not. I just feel sorry for the young man that had to go through all that turmoil.

The next day and the day after that, Frank continues to help me. The tasks he asks of me are becoming a lot easier. I can recall my parents' birthdays, the titles of my comic book issues, the locations of the meets and greets, and all the details about the upcoming trial like the back of my hand. He's proud of me and informs me that I may be able to get out soon, since I'm almost back to normal, and I'm more than thrilled to hear that.

The weeks fly by, and on a snowy evening in early December, my doctor, Jarrod Alexander, steps into my room and says I'm being discharged today. He compliments how well I've been doing and even comments on how he thought I wasn't going to make it. We share a laugh at this, and then he leaves me to pack the little things I had come with.

A male nurse, I presume—he is wearing a feminine color of scrubs—gives me the clothes I was wearing when I was admitted here a few months back whenever the doctor leaves. I thank him by shaking his hand, but end up freezing halfway. The nurse frowns a bit and pulls his hand back to scratch at his shaved head. "Well, good luck on your trial, Mr. Way," he says before walking out. I smile. Mike Pedicone.

I change into the set of clothes the other had given me—a t-shirt with pajama bottoms. I smirk a bit before heading out.

I say goodbye to Toro, who's pushing Brian around in a wheelchair. Brian's face, neck, arms, and hands seem to be in better condition since the last time I've seen him. They're still badly scabbed, but they're healing, and Brian reassures the point by rubbing at them and getting smacked by Toro. I lightly laugh, which makes Brian whip his head around and jump up from the wheelchair. He wraps his arms around me and tightly holds on. "I'll be the first in line to buy your new book." I pat his back and smile.

"Goodbye, Brian."

"Goodbye, Gerard Way."

I laugh again before starting back down the hallway, seeing the exit in view. I glance out of windows and see snow littering the ground, and I rub my arms in worry. I have no jacket.

Cheesy, once again, but my angel seems to swoop down and lay a large, thick blanket around my shoulders. I smile, softly touch it, and look over at Frank. "Thanks."

Frank wraps his arm around my waist and leads me the rest of the way outside.

"I'm really proud of you," he says, nodding, once we are standing out in the front of the hospital. Little flakes of snow land in our hair. I brush it away from his hair, and he returns the favor.

"I'm proud of myself, too," I admit, and Frank puts his hands in his pockets.

"This is strange, but I feel like I know you from somewhere."

"The feeling is mutual," I murmur, and we continue walking. "I don't know how I'm getting home," I tell him as we pass a blond man sitting on a bench by the entrance of the hospital. We make eye contact. Bryar. I give him a wave, and he stares at me. I smile and look ahead when Frank begins to talk.

"I can give you a ride," he suggests.

"That'd be nice," I say, and I mean it.

But we don't make it back to my place. We barely make it to the car. We kiss and touch as the snow falls around us, and everything is just perfect. He pushes the blanket from my shoulders and rubs my arms, and I don't mind that the blanket nor the ends of my pajama bottoms are getting drenched with the melting snow.

Frank's lips are soft against mine, and his hands are warm around my arms, keeping them safe from the winter breeze. My hands stay on the back of his neck, stroking it, gripping the hair that's gathered there. I pull, and he moans, his hands going down to cradle my ass.

We manage to pile into the back seat of his car before we combust into a fire of heated lust.

The sex is like how I remember it—it's sweaty, gross, and oh-so-fucking hot. Frank hits my prostate just like he used to, but I constantly have to remind myself that whatever happened in my coma is not real, but once we climax, and I fall on his chest, weak from lack of oxygen, he murmurs something in my ear that proves that what I had experienced in my dream-like state was not something made up.

"Just like I remember it." He brushes the hair off the back of my neck. "I mean, I remember something like it."

I only smile and agree with him.

We head back to my house together, take a shower together, eat a bowl of Ramen noodles together, and then lie in bed together, fucking the night away.

Afterward, I sleep on his chest and dream about all the happy moments I've shared with this man—no matter if they're fabricated or not. Some of these times must be real because how else would Frank have remembered them also? I'm just ecstatic to know that he somehow knows me, that he doesn't mind what happened to me, that he doesn't care I've been in love with him ever since he first gave me the examination to see if I'm worthy enough to stay among them. And I'm glad I passed because if I hadn't, I wouldn't have gotten to know Frank better, wouldn't have gotten to spend any of the intimate moments that I wouldn't trade for the world with him.

I wake up with a smile on my face.

Frank's making breakfast when I walk into the kitchen, and everything seems like a dream. It goes by so pleasantly and so fast, I hardly know what's quite happening. You're just left with the feeling of being grand and higher than the tallest tree in the woods behind the house on the corner of the street.

The days go by, and I still have the feeling of being the greatest thing in the world. Soon, it's the day of the trial, and Frank's helping me dress in something nice to give off a good impression.

"I'm so proud of you," he reminds me, and I smile. He starts to fix my hair. "Tell the truth. Tell them everything you know."

"I will, Frank."

"I love you so much," he says, giving me a smile back. "I know it's too early in our relationship, but it doesn't seem that way, y'know?"

I nod. "I know."

We hug and kiss, and I hold onto the back of his head during the actions, hardly bearing to imagine what I had seen happen by the hands of a gun. I almost cry, but Frank nudges me and warns me not to be late. I give him one last kiss before leaving him.

I step outside our house and look around, examining the trees and the sky, strangely happy that I can see them and not just mountains and mountains of dirt engulfing me from all angles.

I take a deep breath, smile at the fluffy, white, cotton ball clouds, and get into my car. I sit down and take another breath, starting the car. I readjust the rear view mirror and glance at the house, smiling when I see Frank in the upstairs window, carrying the bed clothes into the laundry room.

I close my eyes for a moment and thank God or whoever is listening for bringing me out of my nightmares and letting me come back to Earth to experience life again with Frank.

I open my eyes and laugh at myself. "I'm such an idiot," I remark, pushing my hair off my forehead. I check myself out in the mirror and back out of the drive way, finally ready.


End file.
